


Fix You

by Rehfan



Series: Safe House [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drugged Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peer Pressure, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, Rejection, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 22,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is at an all-time emotional low. But he's too proud to admit it.</p><p>Q is doing his best to be there for his boyfriend. After all, the man may be James Bond, but he shouldn't feel guilty about being raped.</p><p>TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains references to and descriptions of a drugged rape. If you have triggers, please do not read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note about the title: It is taken from the Coldplay song "Fix You".
> 
> Unfamiliar? Then go here: http://youtu.be/hbJuEFs7-kU
> 
> (Sometimes my iPod is smarter than me.)

Q awoke to the sound of the shower. In the rooms they were in, there were no windows so it was difficult to determine the time of day without a clock. His body told him that it was early still. Much too early to be awake. He put on his glasses and looked at the familiar alarm clock with its glowing green numbers. 03:26. What the hell?

He stumbled out of bed, scratching at his scalp to help wake him. His hair in his eyes, he walked through the doorway to the bathroom and looked to the left. The wide shower with its glass doors revealed James sitting on the tiled floor under the main spray from the overhead shower head. Q opened the door to the shower and waited for James to say something. He didn't even look up.

"It's almost 3:30. Couldn't you have waited to take a shower?" Q asked.

Bond didn't stir.

"Alright, love?" Q tried again. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

James moved at this. He had had his knees bent and was resting his arms on his knees. When Q spoke, he shifted so that his head was in his hands. It was then that Q noticed the scrub brush. It was the one that was under the sink and used for cleaning the kitchen floor. "What's that for then?" asked Q.

"Leave it, Q," said James finally.

Q stood there for a moment longer deciding what to do. Before they had gotten involved, Q would have left the man to his own devices. He was a double-oh after all. He was a big boy who could handle anything. He was a killer of men. But that was then.

Ever since Bond and he had begun their relationship, Q had to learn to give in on his own pride. He had to learn to let go and allow Bond to be the strong one. But here was this impenetrable force sitting at 3:30 am on the floor of their shower after what had to be a harrowing experience just three nights ago. Q's lips formed a thin line of determination. Why should James always be the strong one? He couldn't possibly handle this by himself. And he hated psychologists. All the double-ohs hated being analyzed. So it was up to the one person Bond trusted more than anyone: his Quartermaster, his Geoffrey.

Q stripped himself of his boxers and set his glasses on the sink edge. He stepped naked into the shower with Bond. He sat bedside him and tentatively placed a hand on his back. He felt Bond stiffen and still under his hand. The skin was warm and red from the shower water, but there was more: as Q got closer, he noticed small red marks on the inside of Bond's thighs. Scratches. Gingerly, he put out his hand to run a fingertip along them. "What's this?" he asked softly. He suspected the scratches came from the scrub brush Bond had appropriated.

"I-" Bond began. Q gave him a moment. "I can't-" he stuttered. "I can't get him off of me." Bond shivered under the hot spray and shut his eyes tightly.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Q twenty minutes to get James out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and robe, and seated in front of the fire with a hot toddy. "You scrubbed yourself pretty raw," Q observed.

"I'm sorry," said Bond.

"For God's sake, James," said Q. "Stop apologizing for-"

"No," said Bond, cutting him off. "I'm apologizing for being such a bother. I'll be past this in a day or two."

"You think so, do you?" said Q, sitting beside him and placing an arm around his shoulders.

"I have to," said Bond. "I'm a goddamn agent. I have to be able to pull it together."

"Perhaps a trip to the staff psychologist...?" offered Q with a wince. Bond glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "Or not," said Q. "Your choice really. Only I think you may want to give it some consideration."

Bond shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "No head shrinkers."

"James, you've scrubbed the skin off your body," reasoned Q. "You're having nightmares - which you'd never admit to, but I know better - and you've been drugged and raped at the hands of a sadist."

"A sadist who wanted to save his daughter so desperately that he left her life and allowed the world to think him a disgraced agent," said Bond.

"Yes," said Q. "Well... even the devil was an angel once." He paused and watched Bond sip his drink. He ran a hand through Bond's hair and tilted his head. "Do you have any idea how precious you are to me?"

Bond raised an eyebrow at Q. "Don't go all nancy-boy on me, Geoffrey."

"I mean it," said Q. "You are the single most precious thing in my life. And I used to resent your presence, remember?" Bond grunted: a begrudging acknowledgement. "And here you are, your insides ripping out because of what that twisted bastard did to you and you won't let me help you. Do you have any idea how useless that makes me feel?"

"There's nothing you can do, Geoffrey," said Bond "It'll just take some time. I'll get over it. Just leave me be."

"I can't," said Q, placing a kiss on his cheek. "I love you."


	3. Chapter 3

"Espionage and relationships...," sighed Bond.

"I know," said Q. "Neither one of us saw this coming, though. Did we?" He gave Bond a shy half-smile and shivered. He was only wearing his boxers after having been in the shower with Bond and wasn't entirely dry.

"Here, you should be in bed," said Bond.

"So should you," retorted Q. "It's four o'clock in the morning. Come on, love. Come back to bed with me."

Bond swallowed back the rest of his toddy and got up. They snuggled beneath the duvet and held each other, chest to chest letting their body heat spread to one another. Neither man spoke as they looked at each other, gently kissing as the spirit struck them. Eventually, Q lifted his head and Bond lowered his to Q's neck. Sleep took them both in minutes.

Three hours later Bond hit Q with an out-flung arm. Startled, Q awoke to see Bond thrashing about the bed fighting a battle in his sleep. "James," said Q firmly. He didn't touch him. He didn't dare. Q was more likely to get a fat lip for his troubles. Even in his sleep, James Bond was a dangerous man. "James!" said Q. Bond sat bolt upright and panted for breath. When his eyes caught sight of Q he broke down a bit. Q held him as he fell over into his arms and placed small kisses to the back of his neck as he held James' head to his chest. Q rocked him gently and hushed him to calm him.

"I hate this," said Bond.

"I know," said Q. He lifted Bond's head to see his face. Bond looked shaken. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?" Bond shook his head.

Bond caught sight of the clock. "It's seven," he said. "Time to get up anyway." He slipped from the bed and went to his wardrobe on the other side of the fireplace. Q watched him with a mixture of fascination and trepidation as he dressed for the day.

"Do you have an assignment?" asked Q.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Bond. "Was going to go to M to ask."

"If M has any sense, he'd put you on holiday," said Q.

"Well let's hope he's lost his mind, then," said Bond as he knotted his tie and slipped on his jacket.

"You can't go back in the field, James," said Q. "Not the way you are."

"Oh and I suppose you have a psychology degree, do you?" said Bond, a bit testily.

Q knitted his brow in frustration. "You're not fit, James," he said. "Anyone with a brain can see that."

Bond stopped with his hand on the door. He didn't turn around when he said: "I need the work, Q. I need the distraction."

"You're self-destructive and you'll be useless in the field in any capacity," said Q.

That statement of hard truth hit Bond between the eyes and he turned his head to glare at Q. "Fuck off, Geoffrey."

"Don't go, James," said Q, pleading now. "I'm sorry. I just don't think-" Bond opened the door and walked through. "Please, James, don't do this!" Bond turned and grabbed the door handle closing the door. "DOUBLE-OH SEVEN!" Q shouted.

The door fell to with a loud bang.

Q hung his head and mumbled: "I love you, you git. And you're going to get yourself killed."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah, Bond," said M when the agent entered his office. M had just taken his first sip of coffee when the Moneypenny had alerted him to his presence. He was proud of Bond's bounce-back into the field, especially considering all he had been through. M had been privy to the video evidence of his sexual encounter with the now incarcerated Morgenstern and was concerned about the time he would need for recovery from such trauma. But standing before him was the stoic calm presence of what seemed to be a well-put-together James Bond. "How can I help you?"

"My third kill," said Bond. "I'd like to finish my assignment."

"You have, 007," said M. James raised an eyebrow. "Your third target was to have been Ella Campbell."

"What? 004's mother and father were my targets?" said Bond.

"Just so," said M. "You asked for the suspects, they were them. And it just so happens, Campbell was actually guilty. So, job well done, really."

"Well," said Bond a bit taken aback. "Any other assignments for me then?"

"Nothing of high importance," said M. "Although, you can be on the detail when Morgenstern goes to crown court next week."

Bond hesitated. The last time he saw Morgenstern he was spilling his guts in an interrogation room. It was all Bond could do to keep his eyes focused on Q instead of his rapist. He hated hearing the bastard's voice. When he was in the field and it was about achieving an objective, he could distract himself with the puzzle of the operation. In that room, with nothing to do but stand there and listen to the man fall apart like he was some misunderstood hero... it was revolting.

Bond wanted nothing more than to torture Morgenstern like he tortured Murphy: slowly and painfully. He would make the bastard pay for what he did to him. And the nightmare he had become. Images of his dream came across his mind in flashes: the binding of his hands, the sick whispers, the painful entry. Bond shut his eyes tightly, involuntarily, at the recollection.

"Bond?" said M. "Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, sir," said Bond. "Bit of an upset stomach. Nothing terrible."

"Good," said M slowly with an evaluating stare.

"Is there nothing else for the next week?" asked Bond. "I need to be busy."

"No... Well..." said M. Bond looked at him hopefully.

"I do need a letter sent to the President of France," said M. "I hate to waste such a mundane thing on a double-oh-"

"I'll take it," said Bond.

"One condition," said M with a raised finger. "You take Q with you."


	5. Chapter 5

"But what about...?" Bond left the question hanging. The Harbinger project was Q's invention. The Harbinger surveillance program itself had been thoroughly destroyed and the people who created it were either dead or decommissioned from writing the code - Q among them. Because Harbinger was Q's baby, it made it unsafe for him to reside in his own flat. He was attacked once on his way home and M didn't want a repeat performance. So Q had been living down in the sub-basement for quite some time. Even after Harbinger was destroyed, Q continued to live at MI6, waiting for the word to spread world-wide that Harbinger was no more. Bond wondered if it was too soon to remove Q from the relative safety of MI6.

"Harbinger is dead," said M. "I think in this day and age of high-tech communication devices, the six weeks that have passed since the Murphy incident have been enough time for him to be considered safe. Besides, this is a simple mission and the two of you could use a bit of a holiday." M allowed himself a discreet smile. "Paris is the city of lovers, after all." Bond blushed and focused on something incredibly interesting in the corner of one of M's bookshelves. M cleared his throat. "At any rate, the thing needs to be done. Will you?"

"Of course, M," said Bond. "So... it's just a letter, then?"

"A package, really," said M. "The President's wife is having her birthday gala on Thursday. It's at the Palais Garnier. Private event. Black tie. You can deliver it then." M walked to the corner of his office and pulled on a drawer of a cabinet. He withdrew a thick envelope large enough to carry a small book. He handed it to Bond. "You can get your travel tickets from Moneypenny, but I'm afraid they'll be for the Chunnel."

"Why can't we fly?" said Bond.

"You really don't know a lot about your- erm, Q, that is - do you?" said M awkwardly. "Q doesn't fly."

"No?" said Bond. The thing that struck him as most odd wasn't that Q had a fear of flying; lots of people had that fear. No, the oddest thing about the realization that Q didn't fly was that Bond didn't realize that he didn't know that about the man. M was right: how little he knew. Bond shook his head.

"He didn't tell you, then?" said M.

"It never came up," said Bond.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to talk about it. I don't really need to see you again until next week, so take as much time as you like. On the company," said M.

"A paid holiday in Paris?" said Bond.

"Well... consider it a "welcome back" to you both," said M. He gave Bond a warning look: "But I do expect you back and ready for work no later than the following Tuesday. One week from today exactly. No playing about."

Bond grinned. "Yes, sir." Paris would be a wonderful distraction.


	6. Chapter 6

Q got out of bed slowly after Bond had left. He showered properly, dressed and had just sat down to his breakfast of toast and jam. He pulled up his email and half-heartedly scrolled through the messages, ignoring the blatantly unimportant, flagging the urgent, and merely sighing at anything that fell in between. Regret ate at him. He didn't mean to be so... well... mean. James meant more than anything to him and he managed to push him away. He forced himself to eat his toast and watched with disinterest as his tea went cold.

Twenty minutes went by and he was still in the same position; the only difference was that his screen saver had kicked in. The door opened and Q looked up. Bond walked through the door briskly and said, "Pack your things. Enough clothes for a week. And pack your tuxedo. We've been invited to a gala." The agent made a bee-line for his armoire and began to stuff a duffel with his belongings. "I'll have to pick up my tux at my place before we leave," he muttered.

Q watched all of this in stunned silence. Finally, he asked: "What the devil are you talking about? Are we under attack? And what gala?"

At the word "attack" Bond turned to give Q an annoyed glance. "Get. Your. Things. Now," he said slowly, pointing at Q's wardrobe across the room.

"Give. Me. A. Fucking. Explanation," said Q and he folded his arms.

Bond's shoulders drooped and he sighed deeply. He stopped his packing and walked slowly over to Q. He took a chair and placed it as close to Q as he could get without touching him. "M has asked me to deliver a package to the President of France. We are to meet him at a gala birthday party for his missus. It's a black tie event. We are staying in Paris for a week solid, returning here next week. So..." He leaned in closely to Q. Q felt his breath hitch as Bond's next words ghosted his breath on his cheek: "Get up off your pert little arse and pack a fucking bag."

Q couldn't help himself. He crushed his mouth to Bond's in a fiery kiss that lasted more than a minute and had both of them panting for breath when it was over. "Save it for Paris," growled Bond. Q nodded numbly and got up to do as he was bid.

"Will we have to go by your place at all?" asked Bond when they seemed to be prepared. "We've got a bit of time before we have to catch the Chunnel train."

"Why would we do that?" asked Q.

"To pick up your tux, of course," said Bond.

Q blushed a bit and said: "I don't actually own a tuxedo, James."

"Oh," said Bond. "Not much call for them in Q Branch, I suppose?" Q chuckled and gave him a wry smile. "Never mind then. I've got a pal in Paris; owes me a favor. Come on. We'll be late."


	7. Chapter 7

Bond's flat was utilitarian and spartan in the extreme: no mementos, no personal touches, just one small ceramic bulldog draped with the flag of the United Kingdom that sat perched on his kitchen counter. The kitchen, incidentally, seemed to be a room that got little use: it was bare of anything even remotely related to food or food preparation, and as a room, was singularly uninspiring. Q felt sad just standing there. Its only saving grace was that it looked out over the rest of the flat, the entire place consisting of spaces rather than rooms, divided by an open-backed bookshelf here or a plain wooden screen there.

Bond collected his tuxedo in a moment's time and they were on their way once again in Bond's car. It was an elegant vehicle, but practical enough. Q thought he could recommend some modifications to it should he ever have need to take it into the field, but he kept them to himself. Besides, a gift of bullet-proof glass might make a nice birthday present for Bond.

The train was a nightmare as always. The queue for loading up personal vehicles was long and Bond huffed his impatience and occasionally sounded his horn at the slower passengers. "Honestly, Bond," said Q at one particularly rude outburst. "Was that completely necessary?"

Bond had the common decency to look ashamed at the reprimand. "I just want to be there already." He turned to Q. "Is it true that you don't fly?"

"Yes," said Q.

Bond narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Q hesitated. A horn sounded behind them. Bond looked into his rear-view mirror and grumbled, "Seriously?" The subject was dropped. It took them another twenty minutes before their car was put aboard and an additional half hour beyond that until it cleared inspection. Finally they were on their way.

Q disappeared for a few minutes and came back with two tall champagne flutes and a bottle. "Where did you get this?" asked Bond.

Q shrugged. "The bar was empty. I was thirsty. I saw. I took. What are they going to do? Tell the President of France that we can't drink champagne?"

Bond chuckled and shook his head. They opened the bottle and toasted themselves a wonderful journey. After the first glass, Bond remarked: "Now I know why they keep you underground in Q Branch. There is a very good chance, my dear Geoffrey, that if you were to roam about unchecked, you could quite possibly take over the world."

"That doesn't sound like a bad plan," said Q. Bond laughed. "Are you joking?" Q continued. "The world under my rule would be wonderful: a computer in every home, free Wi-Fi connectivity for all, and plenty of French champagne for celebrations and holidays."

"Careful," said Bond smirking around another glass of bubbly. "Keep talking like that, M may question your loyalties to England."

"Oh fine then," said Q. "I'll put a chip shop on every corner."

Bond's laughter was infectious and soon they were both giggling like little boys on an outing.


	8. Chapter 8

Two hours later and Q was still buzzing from the champagne. "You're really in no condition to drive, Bond," said Q.

"I beg your pardon?" said James. There wasn't a hint of drunkenness about him and Q was hating him for it. Alcohol always hit Q like a two tonne lorry and the train car spun a bit when he stood to gather his things. Bond reached out an arm to steady him and Q fell into it happily. He grinned at Bond, his eyes alight with the glow of the inebriated. "I'm just thankful that you're not driving," said Bond.

An hour later and they were on the road. "Where are we staying, anyway?" Q asked Bond as he watched Paris fly by.

They were careening around l'arc de triomphe when Bond replied: "The Georges V Hotel."

"Mmm...," said Q, nodding his approval. "Very posh. It's a wonder M allows it."

"M wouldn't want his best emissaries to stay in a two-star, Q," said James with a small smirk. The Champs-elysees opened up before them and they made their way along it toward the hotel.

"Of course not," agreed Q. "But the decision to stay there has nothing at all to do with the fact that you can't stand to sleep on anything less than six-hundred-count bed sheets, would it?"

"Just a happy coincidence," said James.

They valet parked the car and the porter took in their bags. Q and James stepped into the lobby. Q felt like a tourist on a student visa. James looked as though he belonged right where he was: a god Apollo in his Olympus. James walked casually over to the reception desk. The young girl there typed in his name and found his rooms: "La Suite Présidentielle, monsieur. Oui. Voici votre clé. Une heureuse visite à Paris, monsieur."

Q's French was rusty, but he could swear she said "Presidential Suite". He asked Bond about it on the way up in the lift. James just grinned.

They made their way down the corridor, their footsteps muffled by the lush carpet. James paused before a door and opened it wide for Q to step through.

Light shone on the richest cobalt blue and gold-accented furniture Q had ever seen. Compared to the rustic decor of their rooms in the sub-basement of MI6 and the distinct lack of sunlight, this room seemed utterly dazzling. Q wandered from the suite sitting room to the bedroom and the bathroom; both were just as breathtaking as the first. It was elegant, posh, lush, and everything else in between.

It was a goddamned honeymoon suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Georges V Hotel, Paris is fucking AMAZING hotel. See for yourself! Reference pics: 
> 
> Exterior: https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-NprnmWFDEUU/T37SJ8SvDFI/AAAAAAC4q-c/kFJiqeMXP28/s964/FOUR+SEASONS+PARIS+THE+GEORGE+V
> 
> Interior Lobby: http://d10vow1orod6ms.cloudfront.net/content/dam/fourseasons/images/web/PAR/PAR_218_aspect16x9.jpg/jcr:content/renditions/cq5dam.web.1280.720.jpeg
> 
> Galarie Lounge: http://d10vow1orod6ms.cloudfront.net/content/dam/fourseasons/images/web/PAR/PAR_138_aspect16x9.jpg/jcr:content/renditions/cq5dam.web.1280.720.jpeg
> 
> Presidential Suite Sitting Room: https://d10vow1orod6ms.cloudfront.net/content/dam/fourseasons/images/web/PAR/PAR_127_aspect16x9.jpg/jcr:content/renditions/cq5dam.web.720.405.jpeg
> 
> Presidential Suite Bedroom: http://d10vow1orod6ms.cloudfront.net/content/dam/fourseasons/images/web/PAR/PAR_124_aspect16x9.jpg/jcr:content/renditions/cq5dam.web.1280.720.jpeg
> 
> Presidential Suite Bathroom: http://d10vow1orod6ms.cloudfront.net/content/dam/fourseasons/images/web/PAR/PAR_051_aspect16x9.jpg/jcr:content/renditions/cq5dam.web.1280.720.jpeg


	9. Chapter 9

Q turned back from the threshold of the bathroom and walked right into a hard passionate kiss from James Bond. If he thought the champagne was making his head spin, it was nothing compared to the feel of this man against him. He wrapped his arms about Bond's neck and clung to him through it. For all they had been through, this was their one constant, the one thing they could come back to time and again and find themselves. Everything meant home to them: the touch of skin on skin, the taste in their mouths, the scent of each other. The familiarity of it all warmed Q's heart.

As the kiss broke, Bond looked at Q with such affection it was heartbreaking. A knock came at the door. It startled them both out of their private bubble. James gave Q a smirk and turned to the door. "That'll be our bags," he said over his shoulder. "I'll just be five minutes. When I come back, be naked."

Q's cock twitched and the breath left his body. Heat spread in his groin and as soon as he snapped out of his pheromone-induced reverie, he stripped and got in the bed. Once he lay under the duvet and felt the cushion of the mattress under his body, he let out an audible groan at the comfort. Sex in this bed was going to be mind-blowing.

Good as his word, Bond was back inside of five minutes. He gazed hungrily at Q as he lounged among the pillows, arms behind his head. Bond undressed slowly, provocatively, intentionally stretching out the slow display of his skin to Q. When he finally did crawl over the duvet toward his lover, Q was completely hard and breathing heavily. Bond crawled over Q, holding himself up on hands and knees. He dipped his head low for a kiss and Q let him have it. Only their lips and tongues touched. Q kept his arms at his sides and clutched at the duvet, wanting to touch, but not allowing himself to because the sensory deprivation was fucking phenomenal.

Bond pulled back and looked at Q for a long time. He seemed to be memorizing his face. "What is it?" Q finally asked.

"You look so... debauched, Geoffrey," said Bond. His next words were punctuated by sucking kisses to Q's mouth: "Too... fucking... gorgeous..." Bond got underneath the duvet and resumed his hovering and kissing. This time their body heat caused a fine sheen of sweat to develop within minutes. This was all there was for a long time: Bond lapping at Q's willing mouth, tongues sliding, and the soft wet sounds created from the action. Moans intermingled and soon enough, Q couldn't stand it any longer: he had to touch James.

Slowly, Q crept his hands up James' arms, caressing the dips and curves of each muscle with ghosting fingertips. He brushed the back of his knuckles against one pert nipple and Bond moaned into his mouth. Gingerly Q's fingertips found James' torso and belly, teasing the skin there and causing James' abdomen to jump and his breath to stutter. Finally those fingers found the hair that grew just north of his cock. Q massaged the thatch until James whimpered into his mouth for more, emphasizing his need with an errant shallow thrust of his pelvis.

"You want this?" asked Q, his voice dusky and breathy.

"What?" said Bond, pulling his head back a bit.

"You want this?" Q repeated, a sly look playing about his features.

Bond blinked at him and swallowed hard. His arms shook as if they were going to give in and suddenly James rolled on his back away from Q. He was shaking.

Q turned over on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. "Alright?" he asked, placing a hand on James' chest.

James brushed his hand away. "Don't-" he said. "I- I just need a minute."


	10. Chapter 10

Q thought a moment and decided that silence was best. In point of fact, he didn't know what to say. The most traumatizing thing that happened to him didn't involve being drugged and then raped. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for Bond. Several minutes passed before James spoke. "I'm sorry, Geoffrey," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought that I-" He fell silent again. For a few long moments, the two of them just listened to each other breathing.

"It's alright, you know," said Q softly. "Only..." Bond didn't prompt him to continue. He wasn't curious to know what Q was thinking. He was too busy being angry with himself.

Q glanced at Bond and took in his profile. He was too beautiful. And so serious. Q missed the laughter in his eyes, the playfulness that existed in those rare moments of glee. "I wish I knew how to make it all go away," Q said at last. Bond didn't respond.

"Will you tell me?" asked Q tentatively. Bond turned his head to face Q. "Someday, I mean," Q added quickly. He added: "It's just that I feel like I'm trying to put together a puzzle, but I haven't got all the pieces. I need your help, James. But only if and when you're ready."

"Are you proposing to become my shrink?" asked Bond.

"No," said Q. "I'm proposing to become your sympathetic ear. But I can't do that if you won't let me."

Bond turned back to the ceiling. Q let a huff of air out of his nose and did the same.

Sleep took Q after a few minutes of silence. Upon waking he chided himself, but if one were to consider the factors involved (the disgustingly comfortable bed beneath him, exhaustion from the train, and he was still a bit inebriated from the champagne) a sensible person would have forgiven himself. But Q was angry that his body betrayed him. He should have stayed awake to talk to James, to be there for him. As it was, when he woke, James Bond was gone.

Q wandered around the suite, starkers. What was the point of getting dressed? It's not as if he wasn't going right back to bed in a few hours anyway. He wandered from the sitting room to the conference room, to the kitchen, and back again. This place was amazing. And empty. Bond was nowhere. 

Q didn't trust his French enough, but surely in a posh place like this there were staff that spoke English. He rang the front desk. The voice on the other end spoke wonderful English and Q questioned the man whether or not he had seen Mr. Bond leave the building. The man was very obliging and commented that Mr. Bond departed the lobby about three hours ago. He had not returned. Q thanked him and hung up.

Q's stomach growled. His head hurt. He was still quite knackered. He stood naked in the middle of the sitting room surrounded by opulence and wanted to cry.


	11. Chapter 11

Ten minutes later, Bond strolled through the lobby with two rather large, rather excellent-smelling paper bags in his hands. He pressed the button for his floor and waited patiently for the lift to carry him back to Q. The corridor that led from the lift to their suite wasn't very long and Bond made the distance with a few long strides. He placed his key in the door. The lock released and he walked in. The sitting room was vacant. Bond supposed that Q was still fast asleep. He walked toward the kitchen at the opposite end of the suite. He placed the bags on the counter top and began distributing the food on plates, finding a serving tray and cutlery in the cabinets. Glasses, dishes, all were placed on the generous tray. Bond carried it carefully to the bedroom, being cautious about waking Q too suddenly.

He poked his head in first, to check on him. A pleased look crossed his features when he saw Q at his laptop, the man's back to him. Q was typing and clicking furiously. Leave it to the Quartermaster to take work with him on holiday. Poor sod had so many damn emails, it was practically impossible for him to keep up. And a week away from the office was a fate too profoundly awful to contemplate - especially when it came to email.

Bond set the tray down on the small bench at the foot of the bed, proud of himself for not making a sound as he crossed the floor. One little playful poke in the ribs would be harmless enough, right? And it would reassure Q that everything was alright between them. After all, he was pretty shaken when it all happened.

It came completely out of left field at him. Those words were... disgustingly familiar. And they were coming out of Q. Bond didn't know what was worse: the fact that Q spoke them, or the look on Q's face when he spoke them. He had needed air. As soon as Q was sound asleep, Bond went for a walk along the Champs-elysees. Paris in the late afternoon was a wonderful balm for his senses. He blended with the crowds and allowed himself to be anonymous. He watched lovers, friends, strangers all around him; they were talking, eating, laughing, kissing. This last reminded him of the wonderful and deeply understanding man he was currently neglecting back at the hotel. The sun had set somewhere along the way and Bond decided not to go back empty-handed.

Now, as he made his way slowly toward the man who had come to mean so much to him, he felt his heart warm. The tousled bed-head, the slim neck, the smooth skin... and oh God, he was still naked. James couldn't suppress the grin that bloomed on his face. That grin faded when he realized what Q was looking at on his monitor.

Q had accessed Bond's personnel file.

Past psych evaluations flashed up on the screen, all said the same thing: does not play well with others, trust issues, borderline psychosis. It was all bullshit. All of those words were pulled out of thin air to serve as a label to paste over him. It wasn't that he didn't trust other people. It was just that other people turned out to be the ones who were doing the shooting most of the time and he had to protect himself. As for the borderline psychosis... well, Bond wasn't too sure what that was in reference to, but if those head-shrinkers were to have seen Murphy... No. Best not to dwell.

The question remained, however: What the devil was Q looking for? Bond knew the answer before he had asked the question. Q was looking for a way to help him. Still, Bond was angry. Q said he would wait until he was ready to tell him all about it. How was this delving into his file a demonstration of "waiting"?

Bond was about to clear his throat or say something clever when Q's head raised. He slowly closed the lid to the laptop and even more slowly turned to face Bond. He looked terrified.


	12. Chapter 12

"Hello," said Q softly.

"Hello, Q," said Bond. "Having a good time?"

"I'm sorry," said Q. "I was only just-"

Bond held up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't care," he said. "What I do care about is your word. You said you'd wait for me to talk about this. Which, by the way, I have no intention of doing."

"I was only-" said Q, trying desperately to explain his actions.

"You were only snooping," said Bond. "And I understand why: you're on a fucking crusade to heal me. I get it. Now cut it out."

"But James," said Q.

"No," said Bond. "I won't have it, Q. If I can't trust you, what good are you to me?"

"Well what do you know?" said Q with more than a little spite, "The shrinks were right about the trust issues." Bond wanted to slap him for that. "Don't look so fucking shocked, James," said Q. He was angry now. "How else am I supposed to get through to you? You never tell me anything of consequence about yourself. You've never even told me why you joined MI6 in the first place! I know nothing about you, you know. I've been fucking you for six weeks and I know nothing about you save your code number and what's your minimum thread-count."

"That's not true," said Bond.

"Really?" challenged Q. "Name me one thing that you have told me that's personal about you."

Bond couldn't answer. He floundered for a minute before coming up with: "And my personnel file is going to tell you, what exactly? That my parents are dead? How many times I've been shot? I've been shot AT a lot more times than I've been shot, I can tell you that. And what about my sex life? Hm? Did the personnel file mention that I take it up the arse? Or did it say I had to be drugged first?" Bond stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Q didn't respond. He just sat there and felt as though he had lost the battle, but won the war. Now we were getting somewhere.


	13. Chapter 13

Q tried not to worry about James, but as he ate the cold (and very amazing) dinner alone, spent the night in that bed, tossing and turning, he ran their last conversation over and over in his head, looking to see what he should have said, how it should have gone, how, instead of James being God-knows-where tonight, he could possibly have been in this bed and holding him. At three o'clock in the morning, he gave up.

The glow of the computer screen greeted him after he finished showering and dressing. He answered what emails he could and read one from M that regarded their mission. The attachment was encrypted. Q typed in the appropriate codes and soon M's pre-recorded face appeared on-screen.

"Hopefully you'll check your emails before you get to the gala," M said, "I wanted to tell you both, or rather warn you, that 009 and Agent Fulmer will be in attendance at the gala. They are there about something entirely different, so give them both a wide berth. Do not, repeat: do NOT blow their covers. If you do, ten month's work will go up in smoke. They'll be warned of your presence as well. You should have no problems. That's all. Good luck."

Q destroyed the email after giving it one more listen. 009... a good bloke, steady hand at the tiller for most missions. He had a weakness for caviar that bordered on the absurd. Agent Lance Fulmer was a spy, but not a double-oh, no license to kill. He was a treasure hunter for MI6: always on the lookout for intel. He always had his ear to the ground. He was a bloodhound of sorts, with a nose that could tell treasure from shit, and his weakness? Gossip.

Q was thankful that their contact would be minimal. He didn't like Fulmer at all. Too macho, too much bravado. He was cocky about his looks as well. In Q's opinion, he had very little to be cocky about. Q always thought he looked a bit like a self-satisfied weasel.

Still, it was good to have this information ahead of time. It would prevent a lot of crap from happening. That's not to say that Bond or Q would ever dream of blowing the cover of two fellow agents, nor the fellow agents blowing whatever reason was behind Bond and Q's presence in their little corner of the sandbox. They could all play nice together. It would be fine.

It suddenly struck Q that it was dawn. He let himself out onto the balcony from the sitting room and took in the view. Paris in the wee hours was a thing of beauty. The garbage men were cleaning up the streets, washing down the sidewalks and tossing away the garbage. Cars came by at odd intervals. Paris was slowly stretching her limbs to begin her Wednesday. Soft light broke on all the buildings around; Paris wore pink in the morning. Q felt as though he were watching a beautiful woman awake from a long peaceful slumber. It was breathtaking.

Today was meant to be the day that James and he were to shop for a proper tuxedo for him. Q wondered that any tailor could get anything together inside a day, but he had a feeling that if it were James asking, all other tasks would be pushed aside so that Bond's request could take precedence. The only hitch in the proceedings was that James was still gone. Q decided to ring his mobile.

The phone rang and rang and when a voice finally came over the line saying, "Hello." Q had thought he had gotten James' voicemail.

There was a pause as Q waited for a beep or message or something, but as the pause became a moment and the moment became several seconds, Q finally meekly said: "James?"

"Hello, Q," said Bond. He sounded resigned about something.

"Are you alright? I... I know I was harsh..." said Q. There was no response from Bond. "I'm sorry," said Q.


	14. Chapter 14

"Paris is gorgeous in the morning," said Q. He didn't know what else to say. "I was standing here on the balcony and looking out over the city. It's just beautiful." Again, there was silence from Bond. Q decided to be direct: "What are you doing?"

"Looking out over the city, same as you," said Bond.

"Oh? From where?" Q tried to sound casual. It didn't quite work.

"I am currently overlooking Paris while sitting on the steps in front of la Basilique du Sacre-Coeur," said Bond.

Q quickly made his way to his laptop and pulled up a map. "That's miles away! Did you walk all night?"

"No," said Bond. "I drove in circles all night. I just wound up here." This time it was Q that was silent. Bond finally replied: "I needed to think and I didn't want to get drunk." There was another long pause. Bond sighed. "I know you care-"

"Love you," Q interrupted.

"-love me then," repeated Bond. "But it's just not a good idea. I think... I think this whole thing was a bad idea."

Q couldn't believe what he was hearing. He sat in the chair at the desk and remained quiet. He was too stunned to speak.

"Look," said Bond. "We had a good run. It was fun. But honestly, this thing is too much. I'm upsetting you and I don't want that on my conscience. I'm better off alone. I think we'd better pack it in, Q."

"You don't mean that," said Q.

"Q, I-" started Bond.

"No," interrupted Q. "No. You don't mean that."

"Q...," said Bond.

Q continued speaking even though Bond kept interrupting. "You're just scared. It's fine."

"Q...," said Bond again with a sigh.

"You can be scared," continued Q, unabated. "It's OK. Because you know what? I'm scared too. And I want to help you. And I love you. And I'm not letting this go without a fight." Bond had given up trying to stop Q's speech and just listened. "You need to fight too, James. You need to want this for yourself: this little pocket of normal that you can call your own. It's not a sin. Nor is it a liability. If our time together has taught me anything it's that you are willing to fight for me. And I want you to know that I'm willing to do you the same favor. You deserve that much from me. And I don't plan on letting you down. You're allowed to be frightened of this. And you're also allowed to want it. It's all OK, James. It's all fine. You need me, James. And, quite frankly... I need you. There. I said it. Now... are you coming back?"


	15. Chapter 15

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," said Bond and hung up the phone. He got into the car and pointed it toward the Champs-elysees.

As he guided the car toward his destination, Bond thought about his time with Q. The man had suffered at the hands of two different attackers within weeks of each other. Just as soon as he had healed up from one, he was beaten so badly by another that he couldn't walk. It was insane. And yet, Q remained strong through it all. Bond had been impressed by that. That inner strength was something that he didn't give Q much credit for before the first attack. He always thought of him as a boffin with messy hair and geeky clothes who was impressively clever. He also had always thought that Q was kind of cute.

Bond smirked to himself as he recalled fantasizing about kissing Q and what his reaction would be. Bond had thought that he might blush, fluster, and shoo him away like a frightened school marm. But that first night they had spent together had changed his opinion. Q presented his bruised body to Bond and allowed Bond to kiss away all that pain. He had succeeded too. He remembered fondly Q asking him to suck him off and the surprised and pleased look on Q's face when he said he was in this all the way.

He had said that, hadn't he? Damn. Is this what he had meant? He didn't think so now, looking back at it. In truth, he hadn't really thought about being with Q "forever". But who else could share his life? Who else would want to? With Q he had the best of both worlds: a partner in work and a lover at home. The only thought that pained him about that arrangement was if Q was ever witness to the day that Bond finally met his maker. He wouldn't want Q to hear him die. That would be an agony of which he couldn't bear to be the cause.

He supposed that that subject was one that should be discussed with Q. Death: it was a touchy subject for anyone. But in his line of work, it was an old friend that passed by every now and again. Bond firmly believed that the good people in the world should live for as long as they pleased without anyone else's input. They deserved to die when they wanted to. But so many times things had not gone to plan and someone good had died before their time. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Yes, he would tell Q all of this.

But what about the elephant in the room? He couldn't talk about Morgenstern. Not that he didn't want to. It was more that he didn't know where to begin. That night was all a jumble of memory. The drug left him with great gaps where the night should have been. And what he did remember came back to him in fits and starts, prompted by things that shouldn't be sinister, but were tainted by the incident.

"The incident". "The incident"?! Jesus, he couldn't even call it "rape". Not even in his own thoughts! He recalled scrubbing himself so hard that he caused scratches on his skin. That was not prompted by something so simple as to be classified as "an incident". Bollocks. He had scrubbed himself raw! How was that anything other than the reaction of an individual that had suffered more than he could deal with? And he didn't mean to harm himself, it was more that the water wasn't hot enough and the soap wouldn't wash the memories he did have off of him, out of him, and down the drain. Another thing that wasn't right, that wasn't fair.

Bond pulled up to the Georges V and handed the keys to the valet. He made his way to the concierge and ordered breakfast for two to be sent up as soon as possible. The lift took him up to the room and he hesitated at the door.

If he was going to enter through this portal, he was making a promise. He was promising Q that he would fight. He was promising himself that he would find a way to preserve what he and Q had started. He was beginning a new chapter in his life that would include addressing the elephant in the room. Someday... No. Soon.

He only prayed that it would be soon enough. Q deserved better than him, but he didn't want to let his silence be the cause of Q's departure from his life. That would be too much to bear.

James took a deep breath and opened the door.


	16. Chapter 16

It was the longest twenty minutes of Q's life. He paced about the suite nervously, not noticing the fine decor, the plush carpet, the beautiful view. To him, the most beautiful and arresting thing he could think of right now was James Bond.

The door clicked open and Q turned to face James. He had a worried and hang-dog expression on his face, but otherwise looked as dashing as ever. "Christ, you worried me," said Q desperately resisting the urge to cover the man in kisses. The only outward sign of his urgent need to touch the man was the clenching and unclenching of his hands.

"I'm sorry, Q," said James. There was a moment's silence. Neither knew what to say to the other. Finally, Bond blurted out: "Have you eaten today?"

"No. It's still early yet," replied Q.

"I ordered breakfast for us both: croissants and coffee, fruit with heavy cream, that sort of thing," said Bond. "They'll bring it up soon." Bond shifted his weight from foot to foot subtly. He didn't quite know how to begin and he was hoping that Q would speak first. Each man looked worriedly at the other: Bond, awkward and feeling more silly by the moment; Q, unsure and hesitant, afraid to hurt Bond with more truthful words. Finally they both spoke together, caught themselves, exchanged nervous laughter and stopped. Bond held his hand out to Q gesturing for him to go first.

Q began with the only words that he knew couldn't possibly hurt the man: "I love you."

Bond smiled and stepped to Q. He cupped his face in his hands and kissed him softly. Pressing their foreheads together afterward he said, "I'm not any good at this, Geoffrey."

"I know," said Q. "All you have to do is trust me. You trust me on missions, don't you?"

"Of course, but that's-"

"It's not different," argued Q. "It's the same thing: you trust me with your life out there. Trust me with your heart here. That's all."

There was a soft knock at the door and an announcement that their food had arrived. Bond let the man set everything up in the kitchen and escorted him out. When he returned, Q was pouring the coffee and laying out the croissants on a dish. "Croissant au chocolat avec amandes," said Bond.

"Have I told you how sexy it is when you speak French?" said Q, kissing the man who had just managed to whisper "chocolate-filled croissant with almonds" in his ear in the most seductive voice.

"Tu ne parle pas Francais?" asked Bond.

"Un petit peu," replied Q as he broke off a piece of croissant and fed it to James. He kissed his mouth, licking a smear of chocolate off his lips and wondered how much time they would have before they had to be at the tuxedo fitting.


	17. Chapter 17

"Can we talk about... it?" asked Q tentatively. He grabbed a strawberry from the dish and nibbled on it as he waited for Bond to answer.

Bond took a deep breath. Not because he was bracing himself to talk about the rape. No. He took a deep breath because he couldn't ignore Q eating a fucking strawberry. Impulsively, he leaned in and bit at the other end of the fruit as it hovered near Q's mouth. Juice ran down their chins and they each wrapped tongues and teeth around the fruit, their lips brushing against one another as the fruit was devoured between them. With a mouth full of strawberry, Bond licked Q's chin to catch what dripped down. He swallowed his mouthful and placed his mouth further down to catch one small droplet that left a wet red trail down Q's neck. He licked the trail back up and kissed Q deeply.

When the kiss finally broke, Q said breathlessly: "I take that as a no." Bond licked at his mouth and snaked his tongue inside for another taste of Q with strawberry sauce. It lingered, that kiss. Soon, Q was pawing at Bond's clothes, grabbing at his shirt, but not quite pulling it for fear of startling Bond again. He didn't want to be too aggressive. Q wanted to do whatever Bond wanted to do and he wasn't going to spoil this if he could help it. He was just happy to have the man back in his arms.

"Later," said Bond between kisses. "We'll talk later. Promise. Need you... now."

"Just tell me what you want, James," said Q. He stroked at his neck with gentle fingertips as Bond trailed kisses down his neck. "Just don't make us late for your friend. I still need a tuxedo for tomorrow." Q barely got the last sentence out of his mouth before James hit that one spot in the hollow of his collarbone that always made him gasp. Fuck that's good. Wait... when did his collar come open? No matter.

Q opened his eyes. Bond had stopped kissing him and was holding his head in his hands looking deeply into his eyes. His breath came in pants, his face was flushed, and his pupils had blown wide. "I love you, Geoffrey," he said. Q couldn't help but smile.

"I love you too," said Q. He looked along the counter and spotted two tea towels set out for use. Suddenly, Q was inspired. He took them both and placed them on the floor, folded and spaced a foot apart. He knelt on them in front of Bond and held the man's hips for balance. Looking up he asked softly: "Is this alright?"

Bond carded a hand through Q's hair and nodded. He was already hard with their kissing. This was going to be superb. Q was very good a sucking cock and Morgenstern had never touched him this way, so Bond felt safe about it. This was still just theirs.

Q moved slowly, still unsure of Bond's potential reaction. He kept looking up to reassure himself of Bond's mood and was rewarded time and again with a smile and kind eyes from the agent. By the time Q wrapped his lips around Bond's prick, Q was sure everything about this would be OK. Above him, Bond hummed his pleasure and stroked his hair gently, occasionally murmuring sweet endearments: "So good, Geoffrey... Ah, just like that.... shit... Oh God, you're amazing... Yes... Fuck.... Oh yes... I needed this... I needed you... Only you... I love you so much..."

Q was hard as a rock when James' climax began to build. His urgency was evident in his speech: "Oh fuck... fuck! God damn it! I'm... ah! Shit!.... Oh just like that... son of a... I'm going to... Oh Geoffrey! Going to... AH!" Q swallowed his ejaculate and licked his cock clean at the finish. Jesus Christ, James Bond was beautiful when he came.

Q stood and waited for Bond to catch his breath. He leaned heavily against the counter, his dick still hanging out of his trousers. He looked completely debauched and Q couldn't take his eyes off of him. He felt his hardness in his trousers and wondered if he should just go have a wank in the toilet.

But then Bond got on his knees.


	18. Chapter 18

Bond had huffed hot air against the bulge in Q's trousers and Q let out a cry of pleasure and surprise. Q looked down. "Are you sure?" he asked. Bond palmed at his erection and nodded. The noise that escaped Q's mouth was meant to be human speech, but fell very short of the mark. What he meant to say was: "That's lovely, James. Thank you for this." but it really wasn't very recognizable as a language in general. And once Bond placed his lips on the cloth and hummed... he was a lost cause.

Slowly, Bond extricated Q's dick from his trousers, licking at the frenulum teasingly. Bond swallowed as far down as he could, hollowing his cheeks on a pull off that was so achingly slow, Q saw stars. Bond let the tip of Q's cock push out his cheek and watched Q's reaction to the sight with seductive eyes. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Q ran a hand over Bond's hair and bit his tongue. He didn't want to say anything that might startle James. He didn't want to ruin everything like he did yesterday. He just tilted his head back and enjoyed the sensation of a slow cock-suck. That was good enough for him.

And it was tremendous. Bond had memorized everything that Q liked: running his tongue along the slit, flicking the frenulum, circling the head, trailing the tip of his tongue down the underside of his shaft and licking his balls while stroking him. Soon Q's hips started to gently thrust in Bond's fist and James let him fuck his fist for a bit, watching the man lose his mind above him bit by bit, push by push. "I love you," said Bond. "Especially like this. You look so gorgeous right now, Geoffrey."

And it was true. The man's hair was a mess, hanging in his eyes, but it gave him such a look of wild abandon, that it just made the whole of him even sexier. His lips were cherry red and swollen with their earlier kisses (not to mention the strawberries). His breath came in pants. His cheeks were flushed. And the gyration of his body as it searched desperately for friction against Bond's hand was utterly mesmerizing.

Bond couldn't help himself. Overcome with the man before him, he swallowed Q down as far as he could and came off of him slowly, holding his hips still with strong hands. The cry of "Christ! James!" came from above him and he increased his rhythm and his suction. Soon enough, Q began to climax and tried to warn him: "Fuck! Oh God, James! Fuck! I love you so much... I'm so fucking close! James, going to... Ah... going to..."

Bond swallowed in turn and did Q the same favor Q did him by licking him clean. Now it was Q's turn to lean heavily against the counter and pant with his dick out. Bond watched Q with a bemused grin. "We're a hell of a pair, you and I," he remarked.

"How so?" asked Q.

"We just fit, don't we?" said Bond.

Q didn't say a word. He just gave Bond a lazy smile and wrapped one lanky arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. After it broke, Q said, "You know, there's a gigantic soaking tub in the middle of our bathroom that neither of us have used. Shall we christen it?"

This time, Bond didn't say a word. He simply smirked, stripped off right there in the kitchen, and walked naked to the bathroom.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK kids -- TRIGGER WARNING!!!
> 
> NOT kidding. This is the big reveal of the rape Bond remembers. If you have a trigger for Rape/ Non-con... SKIP THIS CHAPTER!

By the time Q got his kit off, Bond had the tub half-filled with soapy water. He slipped carefully under its surface and held his arms out for Q. After a bit of coordinating, the tub was filled and they were resting quite comfortably in each other's arms. Bond was idly stroking Q's arms, bringing wet hands over his shoulders and slowly massaging in soft circles before gliding them back down and repeating the motions. Q leaned against him, enjoying the touch and the incredibly warm water surrounding them.

"I don't remember much," said Bond. Q opened his eyes and lay still, listening. After a moment, Bond went on: "What I do remember were small pieces of his conversation. He kept saying how attractive I was. Kept saying how I reminded him of Henry. Things went fuzzy. In and out." Bond paused and buried his face in Q's hair. He pressed his lips to Q's head and continued: "I didn't have a choice in what he was doing. At first, I thought he was just going to be a little creepy, but then he dragged the chair I was in backward and I couldn't react. I brought my hands up, or tried to. He had tied them down. I don't remember him doing that.

"He brought chair and all into the bedroom. He tied me to the headboard by my hands. I don't remember how he got me on the bed in the first place. It was all such a fucking blur. Hazy. I remember his words mostly. That and some of the stuff he did. Most of it I could handle: fondling, touching, all that. I was trained for that. But I was not trained for rape. When he entered me... I..." Bond fell silent. It was a while before he found his voice again: "We should really do that, you know. We should have a course or something on rape and what to do, where to go mentally to beat it. It should be part of MI6 training."

Bond paused again to kiss Q's hair. As for Q, he was trying not to be sick to his stomach. His heart broke for Bond, but the most helpful thing he could do was what he was doing now: listening. Gently, Bond placed a kiss against Q's shoulder. "He said what you said to me yesterday: "Do you want this?" It was disturbing hearing those same words from you. Your voice and face, but his words. It was just too fucking much." Bond had crossed his arms over Q's chest and Q gave them a squeeze of reassurance. Now he understood completely.

"I'm so sorry, love," said Q.

"No," said Bond. "Not your fault. You had no idea. No thanks to me."

"No you don't," said Q. "You can say anything you like, but you will not berate yourself about any part of this. I won't have it." Q brought his head around to look at Bond. "This happened. It happened and it was unspeakable and the man who did it to you is behind bars facing a very long prison sentence, if not worse. But this is in no way your fault. And you needed time. That's all. Do you understand? You are allowed to be human, James. It's OK. It's all OK."

Bond kissed Q's temple. He was speechless. He had always held himself to a higher standard, mostly by virtue of the fact that he was one of the very best as what he did for a living. The rape was indeed horrible, but it was the blow to his pride that really hurt. He could never see himself in the same light after that. There would always be that one failing, that one black mark on his record. Q said he shouldn't blame himself, but when an espionage agent gets himself drugged, it's humiliating. Drugged and raped? That's just adding insult to injury. And those scars will last a lifetime.

James Bond was convinced he would never be the same again.


	20. Chapter 20

They were early when they walked into the House of Gauthier. "Jean-Paul in?" Bond asked.

"Monsieur Gauthier will be with you shortly, Mr. Bond," said the man behind the desk. He promptly got up and left the office. Q didn't know quite what to expect when they pulled up to the fashion house. He supposed he was expecting rich red carpeting and catwalks, scantily-clad women and photographers. From where he stood, it almost looked like the office of a high-priced barrister:all clean lines and glass walls. 

A long-legged brunette walked in carrying a valise. "James!" she called out when she caught sight of Bond. Bond smiled broadly. Q felt his defenses rise. The woman wrapped two elegant arms around his neck and held Bond close for a moment before kissing each of his cheeks delicately. "What are you doing here?" she asked, brown eyes wide, arms still draped about the agent's shoulders.

"Shopping," said Bond, turning to Q. Q forced himself to smile at the female octopus.

"Oh," she said. "Is this your...?" She wasn't sure how to proceed.

"My boyfriend," said Bond with an ease that surprised him. "Geoffrey, this is Lise. Lise, this is Geoffrey." They shook hands cordially and Q noticed with more than a little satisfaction that she was very surprised.

"James, I-" she began. Q selfishly thought, yes that's right. He's mine. All mine. And you're not going to take him from me ever, you walking clothes hanger.

"Do I need to explain?" said Bond, setting Lise even more ill at ease.

"N-no," she stuttered. "It's just that I thought-"

"You were obviously mistaken," said Q, unable to remain silent a moment longer. "Now if you don't mind unhanding my boyfriend, we'll get along just fine." He favored her with a smile that contained pure poison. After what they had shared just hours before, Q felt his emotional attachment to James was stronger than ever, but considering that James' story had awakened the protective side of his nature, he was more than willing to slap this bitch if need be.

She saved him the trouble and released Bond from her embrace. She never took her eyes off of Q and Q stared right back. He didn't move a muscle, his voice was low and even, but his look and manner conveyed possession and power. That's right, thought Q, walk away. He's no longer your fuck toy. 

"I-I'll just see what's keeping Jean-Paul," she remarked and promptly left the room.

Bond turned to Q and said, "What the hell was that?"

"What?" said Q, feigning innocence.

Bond shook his head. "You really are something," he said.

Q grabbed Bond's hips possessively and pulled him close. "Do I need to remind you of how much I love you?" And he kissed Bond softly and chastely on the lips.

"Mmm..." said Bond. "Remind me later. First: tuxedo." He smirked at Q and kissed him quickly.


	21. Chapter 21

Jean-Paul's assistant Claude took Q to his fitting while Bond waited and chatted with Jean-Paul. They caught up on old times and since Gauthier's files still had Bond's specifications, Jean-Paul arranged for Bond to have a new tuxedo done up as well. They would both look extremely well-dressed for the President's fete the following evening.

Bond was escorted to the fitting area where his new suit awaited donning. He was alone and adjusting Jean-Paul's recommended onyx on white gold cuff-links in the main fitting area when Q stepped out from behind a curtain and cleared his throat. Bond turned and what he saw took his breath away.

A single button held the tuxedo jacket together at his belly, the satin lapels shone under the lights. Normally when Q hired one of these (and admittedly, it had been a while) the bow tie always seemed to be too big. This one didn't distract from his beautiful neck. Everything hung on Q as it should and it took Bond a moment to realize that he was salivating. "Alright?" said Q awkwardly, feeling a bit like a teenager showing off a new outfit to his mother. He held his arms out a bit and turned around slowly.

The jackets on the hires he had in the past were sometimes too long in the back, but this cut fit his proportions to a tee. Bond was practically breathless. As Q came back around, his eyes moving to Bond's for approval, Bond caught himself again and smiled reflexively. After a forced breath disguised as a satisfied sigh, he walked to Q and stood inches from him, not touching.

Q noticed Bond's blown pupils and a slight flush to his cheeks and smirked. "I'll take your silence as a "yes", Bond," he said. Q allowed himself a slow lingering look at Bond in his outfit. "Are you getting a new one too?" he asked.

"Jean-Paul seems to think that if you're going to be the height of fashion, that I might want to keep up with the times as well," said Bond. "What do you think?" He smoothed a hand down the front of his jacket and took a half-step back.

Q hummed his approval and smiled devilishly. "I think we make a fine pair, you and I," said Q. "That tux looks marvelous on you." He lowered his voice and added: "I can't wait to talk you out of it."

Bond grinned. Flirtatious Q was a rare treat and he was enjoying every second.

Q's grin faded. "I haven't said too much, have I?" he asked, concerned. "I don't want to go to far."

Bond kissed him softly on the mouth. "No, darling," he said. "I love you like this. And I can't wait to get you back to the hotel."

They were interrupted by Claude who inspected both suits with a practiced eye, made a few adjustments to the sit of the clothes, but was otherwise satisfied. He nodded and grinned his approval. Inside of the hour, they were both in their street clothes and headed back to the hotel where Q seemed to recall something about pain au chocolat and strawberries left over from breakfast. Something must be done about that.


	22. Chapter 22

Bond took control as soon as the door was shut behind them. Q had barely enough time to drape the two tuxes in their protective coverings over the back of one chair as he was moved across the room. Bond pushed Q to one of the sofas in the sitting room and climbed on top of him. His mouth crushed onto Q's, the kiss softening almost immediately and Bond licking at Q's lips for permission to delve deeper. Permission was granted with a moan and their tongues slid together and apart over and over, their lips barely brushing. It was more erotic than passion-filled and Q and Bond were hard within seconds. Not that Bond wasn't already half there on the drive back. The image of Q in that tux was almost too much to bear. Had Claude not come in at that moment, Bond would have been sorely tempted to slake his lust in one of the fitting rooms.

Bond's hands found Q's and their fingers interlaced above Q's head, palms pressed, as the kiss continued. Slowly, Bond began to grind against Q, seeking badly-needed friction. Q's head came up and deepened the kiss. His legs wrapped around the agent, encouraging the man to thrust harder into him. "Rut against me, James," said Q softly into Bond ear as the other trailed kisses down his neck. "I'm yours, love. All yours. Own me."

Bond pulled his head back and looked at Q as he held his hands above his head and slowly ground into him. After a long moment, Bond said, "I love you, Geoffrey. Thank you."

"I love you too," said Q. "I'm so glad you trust me, James. I need you so badly." He glanced down between them for a moment and then threw his head back into the sofa cushions. "Fuck! I need this. Oh God, James." He looked into Bond's eyes and added: "Make love to me, James. Be inside me. Please."

Bond kissed him in response and released Q's hands so he could feel the man caressing him. Q's hands slid to Bond's back, effectively wrapping himself all around Bond as he kissed and frotted against him. Q bit Bond's lip in a fit of passion and as he pulled off, Bond uttered: "Fuck."

"If anything is too much, James, just tell me," said Q. "Please don't go this alone. I'm right here and I love you. Don't fight alone. Please." Bond nodded and kissed Q again. Soon clothing would be an extreme hindrance to them both. "Promise me," said Q.

"Promise, Geoffrey," said Bond sincerely. He cupped his hands under Q's shoulders and supported his weight on his elbows as he ground even more ardently into his lover. He bowed his head and felt Q's breath on his cheek.

Q closed his eyes and just enjoyed this moment: James' breath on his neck, the feel of the weight of him on top, the bump and slide of their erections through entirely too many layers of clothing. It was fucking bliss. Bond kissed him quickly and said, "Got to get out of these clothes."

"Lube too," agreed Q.

They were naked in moments and Bond retrieved the lube from his luggage. "You want to move this to the bedroom?" asked Q.

"No way," said Bond. "I want to fuck you like a horny teenager right here, right now."


	23. Chapter 23

When Bond was preparing him, Q watched James carefully, looking for reactions to anything that Bond might have to what was being exchanged between them. He kept his comments positive, his voice soft. He didn't want to cross a line with James. By the time Bond was at his entrance and ready to fuck him properly, Q made him pause. "You're OK? You're sure?" he asked him.

Bond huffed with a bit of impatience. "I'm fine, Q. But I'll be better if you let me fuck you. It's getting hard to take, you know."

Q smiled at him and nodded. "I just wanted..." said Q. He let the sentence trail off, shook his head, and said: "Never mind. Just fuck me, you amazing man."

Bond pushed in slowly and Q did his best to relax around the growing pressure. When Bond had completely entered him, they both stilled: Bond for Q, Q for Bond. Bond said: "I'm sorry, Geoffrey. But you are fucking hard to resist. I've been wanting to fuck you ever since Gauthier's."

"You're not the only one," said Q. "Now move. Come on, James. I need this."

Bond kissed him quickly and said: "Bossy." He slowly pulled out and thrust in, his pace increasing with the friction and heat they were creating. Q's cock strained between them and what contact it could get between their bellies was not enough for Q. Soon his hand pulled at his hardened cock and Bond watched with fascination as the passion rolled over him.

As their climaxes built, each man stole what glances he could of the other. It was like watching snapshots or a slideshow as they crested upward toward their mutual fulfillment: a glimpse of sweat-sheened neck here, the sight of a furrowed brow there. Golden skin moved against alabaster, undulating, writhing. The taste of salt on skin added another dimension. The resulting moans filled the room.

"You feel so good inside me, James," said Q.

"God, Geoffrey," said James. "Thank you. Thank you." For the first time in a long time, Bond actually felt like he might heal. He felt as though this were not so much a road to recovery as a road leading to overcoming an obstacle in his path. It was a wall he couldn't get past and now the wall in front of him was crumbling. It was liberating. The beautiful man beneath him was giving him his freedom. Bond was grateful. His thanks became a mantra: "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Over and over he repeated those two words and as he clung to Q desperately seeking his orgasm with each and every thrust, he was clinging to those words. They gave him focus. They expressed best how he felt and when Bond burst inside of Q's delicious arse, the freedom that had been building was complete: for the first time in a long time, Bond finally felt like himself again.

They came together, Q calling out "James! Fucking hell, James! Oh God!" before collapsing underneath a man who for whatever reason was thanking him profusely. Q watched Bond come down and kissed another "thank you" against his mouth.

Bond laid his head to one side of Q's, catching his breath. "You're welcome, James," said Q, carding a hand through his hair. "You honor me, my love. Thank you for trusting in me."


	24. Chapter 24

After polishing off the remainder of breakfast and ordering up and consuming a more substantial meal, Q and Bond relaxed into their evening in their own way: Bond in front of the telly with what remained of his beer, Q in front of his computer.

"Oh Christ," said Q.

"What?" said Bond, turning his head to face where Q was seated.

"I'd forgotten to tell you: 009 and Agent Lance Fulmer will be at the fete tomorrow. Deep cover," said Q "We're to ignore them. Give them a wide berth."

Bond chuckled. "I'll have no problem following that order. Fulmer's an arsehole." He took a sip from the beer in his hand.

"Yes," said Q with a hint of annoyance. "I know."

"You mean he gets to you too?" asked Bond.

"He gets to everyone. It's why MI6 hasn't gotten rid of him," said Q.

"What do you mean?" said Bond.

"Well," reasoned Q, leaning back from the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. "He's really good at what he does, isn't he? He's a fucking bloodhound when it comes to sussing out secrets and information."

"Yes," said Bond. "I suppose you're right." He focused back on the telly and flipped through a few more channels before adding: "That doesn't mean he's not an arsehole."

"True," said Q.

There was a moment that was filled with keystrokes and the sounds from the telly. Then Bond spoke: "I just feel badly for 009. What did he do to deserve such an assignment?"

"No idea," said Q, mumbling a bit as he concentrated on his emails. "But you're right. Poor bastard."

The telly settled on a travel programme that was clearly meant for an international audience. The narrator was going on about Paris and the sights to be seen there. Bond had been to Paris a million times and knew all the tourist attractions by heart. He was about to switch channels again when he realized that this particular programme was about the lesser-known places in Paris. Bond glanced at Q. He was hunched over his computer and typing furiously. Bond took a slow sip on his beer and watched the telly with renewed interest, smiling to himself.


	25. Chapter 25

The dawn broke slowly over their bed. Bond rolled over to see Q completely recumbent, sleeping as sweetly as a newborn. It made him grin. They had gone to bed the night before curled up in each other's arms, contented just to be together. It was a damn site better than the previous evening. Bond re-arranged the pillow under his head and watched lazily as Q continued to snooze.

 _"You never tell me anything of consequence about yourself. You've never even told me why you joined MI6 in the first place! I know nothing about you, you know. I've been fucking you for six weeks and I know nothing about you save your code number and what's your minimum thread-count..."_ Q's words came back to him in a flash.

_"Name me one thing that you have told me that's personal about you."_

Bond sighed. He was right. He didn't tell anyone anything about himself. But then, he was trained not to. It created weaknesses. An agent couldn't afford weaknesses. It was bad enough that Bond was once used to make Q do something that he didn't want to do: Murphy exploited Bond to get Q to continue creating the code for Harbinger. But that was all over. And Q came out broken, but stronger for the experience. After all, Q was an agent as well.

MI6 had different expectations from Q and Bond considering their respective briefs within the structure of MI6. But at the end of the day, they were both agents - and well-trained ones at that. So Q knowing about him would be a risk, but not so great a risk as sharing himself with a civilian. That made it better.

But what was Q wanting to hear about him? What could he possibly tell the man that he couldn't read in his personnel file? Bond grimaced at the memory of Q pouring thorough his file behind his back. That was unfair. Q should have waited. He should have exercised the patience he professed to have.

Bond sighed and closed his eyes. Suddenly he felt very weary. "Still asleep?" said Q, his voice croaky in the morning.

Bond smiled before he opened his eyes. "Waking up slowly," he replied.

"We've got the fete tonight," observed Q. He stretched and rubbed his eyes.

"I shut myself away for five days," said Bond, apropos of nothing.

"What?" said Q, completely mystified by the non sequitur.

"I was alone for five days out on the moor that surrounded my home. I stayed in the tunnel during the day and visited their graves at night," said Bond.

"Who's graves?" asked Q. "What are you on about, James?"

"My parents," said Bond. "They died when I was a kid."

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

They spent the next several hours talking all about their histories: Bond's childhood, Q's education, their respective parents, what foods they liked, what music they hated, all of it. It was as if a tap had been turned on; everything they had wanted to say, everything they had meant to tell each other came forth like a flood.

Q laughed to learn about Bond's first plushie: a yellow dog named Custard. Bond became incensed to learn about Q being tortured by the rugby team at Harrow. They were both equally torn over the death of the last M.

It all meant so very much to them, without them realizing it. Each man needed to be able to share his life. Bond needed to have a safe place to put himself when he wasn't on assignment; Q needed an outlet for his stress. It was a wonderful give and take too: the conversation ebbed and flowed between them as they continued to talk throughout the day. Breakfast, showering together, dressing for the day, all of it was filled with their banter. It was surprisingly easy.

Finally around one, Bond said: "I have a surprise for you." Intrigued, Q followed along, no questions asked.

They ventured out into the beautiful Parisian day. The streets were relatively manageable at one in the afternoon, but Bond guided Q away from the valet and began to stride up the street to the nearest bus stop. Once aboard the bus, they settled in: Bond wrapping his arm around Q, the conversation continuing between them. Q never asked him where they were going. If Bond was trusting him, he could trust Bond.

As soon as the bus went around Cleopatra's Needle and past le Jardin des Tuileries, it took a turn and Q was lost in a myriad of small streets. Bond nudged him at one stop and they got off. Q looked around. They were on a relatively nondescript street that looked like any other street in Paris. There was no traffic save the bus itself and one other vehicle behind. A few people passed them as they walked along, but it looked to Q as if they were in a very intimate part of the city. Through it all, Q kept silent, trusting in James.

They walked two streets over from the bus stop and paused in front of a shop with a large wooden and glass exterior. The sign above said: "Mariage Fréres".

They entered and Q was instantly hit by the strong odor of tea. And not without good reason: the shelves inside the shop were wall-to-wall and there was nothing resting on those shelves save large loose leaf tea containers, each neatly labeled with its contents. A catalogue of all the teas sold in the store was out on a small podium and Q noted that it was the size and thickness of a bible on a pulpit. He looked at James.

Bond watched Q's eyes light up. He was like a child at Christmas in that tea shop. "Time to get you to try something besides Earl Grey," he said and smiled.

"Dear God, Bond," said Q. "However did you find this place?"

"I got some good advice," said Bond. Q gave him a quizzical look. "What?" Bond said. "Telly can be very informative these days."

Bond gestured with his hand and let Q lead the way up the stairs to the formal tea salon on the level above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Mariage Fréres is a real tea shop in Paris. It's a bit off the beaten path, but it's AMAZING!
> 
> More info here: www.mariagefreres.com/


	27. Chapter 27

If Paris wore pink in the morning, she wore cobalt blue at night and the Palais Garnier was the golden jewel about her neck. The night for the fete had arrived and the two were in their brand new tuxes standing at the foot of the most famous staircase in Paris, if not the world. The swirl of marble and gold leaf surrounded them, lit softly by the candelabra-laden cariatides that served as gigantic finials on the wide marble banisters.

The upper echelon of Paris were decked out in their finery and filled the space with soft chatter. The different tiers of the opera house opened up onto the main staircase and people three levels up could look over and down on everyone in the place. When Bond and Q first entered, they each grabbed a champagne flute and made their way to the third level to see what they could see. The president and his wife were on the stairs proper and Bond nudged Q pointing them out. Q nodded and sipped at his champagne. If all field work was like this, he thought, he could handle it.

Across the space and down one level Q spotted Agent Fulmer speaking with someone who looked like a member of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra. So, we're working in conjunction with the Americans, are we, thought Q. No wonder M wanted radio silence between us. Q pointed out Fulmer by slowly turning his back and whispering: "Next level down, center of the columns. Remember: no contact unless we can't help it."

Bond nodded and took a sip of his drink. "Let's get this done. I want to go home."

Q raised an eyebrow. "You want to head back to England already?"

"No, Q," said Bond with a smirk. "I want to get back to our hotel. I've got to get you out of that tux before it kills me." And with that, he turned to make his way toward the President of France.

Q watched him walk off with a bemused grin on his face. "You're not the only one," he muttered to himself.

"Nice to see you again, cousin," said a voice from behind.

Q turned to see 009 staring down at him. He was six foot four and dark-haired like Q. They both bore a pale complexion and Q supposed that they could pass as cousins. He shook his hand and grinned. "Good to see you too, cousin."

"Thank God you're here," said 009 sotto voce and with a roll of his eyes. "My friend there is driving me mad. Good to have a sensible person to speak to."

Q winced. "Is he that bad?" 009 nodded. "Sorry, mate," said Q. "Still, it could be worse: you could be his lover."

009 nearly choked on his champagne. "Don't even think that!" he said. "The bastard is quite possibly the worse person in the known universe." He glanced down. "But I do have to say: he's the best intelligence man in the world. Knows everything about everyone, it seems." 009 perked up. "Oh look: Bond gets to deal with him."

Q watched as he saw Fulmer spotting Bond talking to the president. The president and Bond walked off and Fulmer began to move in their direction. Q wondered why. He shot 009 a curious glance. 009 shrugged. "He probably just wants to tease Bond a bit," he said.

"About what?" said Q.

It was 009's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You mean you don't know about what happened on Bond's last assignment?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REFERENCE PHOTOS:
> 
> The interior of the grand staircase of le Palais Garnier:  
> http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/2285/palaisgarnierparisopera.jpg
> 
> The Chegall ceiling inside the Palais Garnier opera house:  
> http://serenayang.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Opera-Chagall-4562.jpg


	28. Chapter 28

The President of France and James Bond were let into the secluded opera booth by a member of the GSPR, the president's personal guard. The door was closed behind them and Bond took a moment to take in the opera house from this view. It was baroque and magnificent, but the Chagall ceiling was an explosion of color and design above their heads. "What do you think of the Chagall?" asked the president.

"I think it magnificent, but misplaced, monsieur," Bond replied honestly. He turned to the leader of France, spared a glance at the porthole window in the door to see that no prying eyes were about, and handed over his package.

"People either love it or hate it," he said, shrugging. As the slim envelope found its way into the inner jacket pocket of the leader and he nodded his thanks, he said: "Your M has saved my skin," he said.

"Oh?" asked Bond. "I never peeked. I was only told to deliver."

"And you have done an excellent job," said the president. "My wife will be so pleased."

"I'll pass the message along to my superiors," said Bond, clenching his jaw slightly. He really didn't want to know what was in the package, but if Bond had been sent on a mission to deliver a fucking birthday present on behalf of the President of France so that he wouldn't have to sleep on the chaise lounge tonight, he was going to be very angry.

"Shall we get back to the party?" offered the president.

"After you, sir," said Bond, swallowing down his building irritation. He would ask M about all this later.

The two men exited the room and made their way down the corridor toward the milling guests. Out of the corner of one eye, Bond spotted Lance Fulmer. Fulmer raised his glass in a friendly salute to Bond and inwardly Bond rolled his eyes. M was specific about no contact. Q had assured him that both Fulmer and 009 had received the same instruction and yet, here Fulmer was, bold as brass, attempting to flag him down.

Not wanting to draw more attention than was necessary, he made his way to Fulmer slowly, appearing as though they were casual acquaintances, rather than old friends.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," began Bond, attempting to gauge his performance in order to see where Fulmer wanted to take this. If Fulmer was making first contact, it wouldn't be Bond who would blow his mission for him.

Fulmer greeted him benignly and ushered him casually to a quiet corner where they could look over the assembled company and talk without being overheard.

This better be important, thought Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference photo:
> 
> The Chagall ceiling:  
> http://serenayang.com/en/speaking-of-ceilings/#


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has to do with victim blaming/ victim shaming. If you have triggers for this, please DO NOT READ.

"I hear you had a bit of trouble," began Fulmer.

"What are you talking about?" said Bond.

"Your last assignment," said Fulmer, clucking his tongue. "Shame you slipped up."

"If you're talking about the mickey he slipped me-" said Bond.

"Well yes," said Fulmer. "You've never been so sloppy before, Bond. Losing your touch?"

"Is that what you dragged me here for?" asked Bond. "Of all the useless, unprofessional-"

"Now now..." said Fulmer. "No need to get in a huff. Besides, you paid for your mistake right then and there, didn't you?" Bond stared at him. "Well," continued Fulmer, "If you hadn't have screwed up, you wouldn't have gotten it up the backside, now would you?"

"This conversation is over," said Bond and took a step away.

Before he was out of earshot, Fulmer added: "Look, all I'm saying is: if you aren't careful, you're going to get yourself killed - or worse." Again, Bond just stared at him. He could hardly credit what he was hearing. Fulmer continued, stepping close and bringing his voice low: "If I were on assignment with you, and you fucked up like that, I would have left you behind. That's all I'm saying. The mission, Bond. The mission is paramount. You should have eliminated your target and gotten out of there, not sat down and swapped stories with him. You wasted time and he fucked you up the arse - literally." Fulmer took a swig of his champagne. "Just desserts if you ask me."

Bond was gobsmacked for several seconds. He wanted to sputter out his indignation but gave himself time to compose a reasonable query: "Are you saying that me getting raped is something I deserved for getting drugged on an assignment?"

Fulmer shrugged. "If the shoe fits," he said. He added: "If you were my partner, I would have let it happen and then taken the mark out myself. It's a sign that you're losing it, Bond. And I mean: what man would allow themselves to be raped anyway? You'd never catch that happening to me. I wouldn't have been so stupid and reckless to get drugged in the first place." He finished his glass in one swallow and Bond resisted the urge to throat-punch him - but only just. "You may want to consider working with a partner if you're going to continue to screw up, Bond. You can't fly by the seat of your pants like you have. It's too great a risk to national security."

Just then, one of Fulmer's marks came by and the agent raised a hand in greeting, smiling widely and falling back into his false persona and disappearing into the throng.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: If you have triggers for Rape/Non-con and recovery, PLEASE DO NOT READ!

Bond backed out of the way quietly and made his way down the grand staircase, past the president and his wife, moving through all the clusters of guests and their idle conversation. He didn't even glance upward toward the face of a very concerned Q as he left the building. He needed air or he was going to kill someone.

He exited the building and strode down the concrete, Fulmer's voice still in his head:

_"You've never been so sloppy before, Bond. Losing your touch?"_

_"What man would allow themselves to be raped anyway?"_

_"I wouldn't have been so stupid and reckless to get drugged in the first place."_

It made the bile rise in him,  but Bond had to admit, Fulmer was right: he should have taken out Morgenstern the moment the opportunity presented itself. Why didn't he? Was he really losing his touch as an agent? Why did he make the decision to let Morgenstern have a few moments of life before he took it all away? Why was Bond so stupid as to give him that window?

Bond couldn't tell Q about this encounter. If he did, all it would do was make Q angry and because 009 and Fulmer were under deep cover, their mission couldn't afford to be compromised, even in a small way. No. Bond decided he would push Fulmer's voice down inside and bury it. It didn't really matter what that weasel thought of him anyway, did it?

_"What man would allow themselves to be raped anyway?"_

Shut up.

_"You'd never catch that happening to me."_

Fuck off.

_"You're too great a risk to national security."_

Screw you, arsehole.

_"It's just desserts, if you ask me."_

STOP. Just fucking STOP!

"James?"

Bond spun around to find Q staring at him, worried.

In the steadiest voice he could muster, Bond said: "Let's go home."

 


	31. Chapter 31

Q had learned to keep silent. On the drive back to the hotel he said nothing. Crossing the lobby, nothing. Going up in the lift, nothing. Gaining access to their rooms, nothing. Finally, Q had had enough and as James crawled wearily into bed he said: "Whenever you're ready, I'm here."

Bond paused, not sure how to respond. He settled himself beside Q and turned off the light. "Goodnight, Geoffrey."

Q stared at the ceiling wondering what to say or do next. Bond lay with his back turned toward him. He watched Bond breathing for a bit and decided that the best thing he could do was to bide his time. He wanted to show James that he gave a damn, however. Finally he decided that simplest was best and he placed a cool hand between Bond's shoulder blades and murmured: "I love you." He removed his hand, regretting the loss of contact, turned away from Bond and closed his eyes.

Several minutes later, he felt Bond move and spoon up behind him, wrapping an arm over his stomach. He was heavy and warm and Q smiled into his pillow. He could wait it out.

Bond's dreams weren't still. They tumbled over one another: childhood memories of the priest's hole, the moor, mixed with more recent images: Murphy's torture, Morgenstern's rape, Fulmer's taunting. It was coming at him from all sides and he fired his weapon into the darkness, chasing the shadows of past and present. But they re-formed and came back again and grabbed a wrist here and an ankle there until he was bound head to foot in inky blackness, his mouth covered so that not even the light of truth could utter forth from between his lips. In the corner stood the late M, his surrogate mother of his adult years, glowering at him, admonishing him for cocking it all up, telling him it was what he deserved. And suddenly it was Murphy over him with that damned pole in his hands. His words were vile and garbled, spoken from a mouth that was broken, bloody, and unhinged. Bond had done that. He had broken his jaw. And now he was back for revenge and M, Fulmer, Morgenstern were all there to back him up. It was what he deserved. He was the one who was wrong. He was the one who was deranged. He was the one who was broken.

Where was Q? Bond searched and searched, his body limited by the wisps of black mist covering his limbs. Inky darkness ruled all. The faces of those that surrounded him offered him no comfort, no succor. They say he deserved it. They smiled at Morgenstern; they were proud of him. Fulmer and Morgenstern and M called Bond a weak agent. M said he was less than a man. Murphy just laughed and twisted the pole in his hands until it had become a snake, a viper, lashing out at his face and neck. Where was Q?

Where are you? Geoffrey? Jesus, Geoffrey... answer me! ANSWER ME!

"James!" shouted Q, up on his knees and shaking Bond's shoulders.

Bond flailed up with a start, sweat forming a sheen on his skin. His breath was ragged and he looked about the room for the ghosts from his dream, half of them dead, half of them miles away, but his brain was SURE they were here somewhere. Finally his eyes caught Q's.

"Where were you?" James pleaded. He had had enough. He bent his head and Q cradled him to his chest, clinging to him as James Bond wept in his arms.


	32. Chapter 32

As he cradled him and slowly took in the fact that James Bond had a nightmare, Q tried not to panic. Agents didn't have nightmares. They didn't cry. They didn't break down like this. Q knew James needed more help than he could give, but he didn't want him to feel like he was giving up on him. Q buried his nose into the back of James' hair and kissed him softly. "Please tell me what that was about," he asked.

Bond had stifled most of the tears as soon as they started pouring from him. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. It shocked him. At the sound of Q's question, Bond lifted his head, knowing that his quartermaster would be immensely distressed that he was upset. Double-ohs were double-ohs because they were a breed apart. Oh Christ, perhaps he was losing it.

"I'm fine now," said Bond. "It was just a momentary lapse. Won't happen again." He took a deep breath and gave Q a half-grin. "Just a stupid bad dream." He wiped a face across his hands. "It was so fucking real, though. Bugger me."

"What was it about?" said Q. He could think of nothing else to say.

"Demons come home to roost," said Bond. He got out of bed and padded to the sitting room. After a minute, he returned with a glass half-filled with an amber liquid that Q could only surmise was Scotch.

"And they were getting the better of you, were they?" asked Q.

"For a bit," said Bond, downing the glass in three big gulps. "But then I woke up."

"And then you cried," said Q softly. He quickly added: "You were looking for me and I wasn't there?"

"What?" said Bond, now feeling much better and wanting to forget the whole thing. Sleep was calling again and he laid down and covered himself with the duvet.

"You asked me where I was," said Q. "I wasn't in your dream?"

"No," said Bond turning away from Q and closing his eyes. "I looked for you and you weren't around. It was frustrating. But I have a feeling if you were there, you would have just been accusing me too."

"Accusing you?" asked Q. "Of what?"

Bond knew he had stepped in it. He winced. "Nothing. Never mind, Q," said Bond. "Just go back to sleep. It was a stupid dream."

"Was Fulmer there?" asked Q.

Bond's eyes snapped open.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little longer. That's because stephrc79 is terrific and brought up a good point that I hope I have addressed in this chapter. Go find her on tumblr. She's a bucket of awesome sauce.
> 
> Enjoy!

"How the hell did you guess that?" asked Bond. "Do I talk in my sleep now?"

"No, thank goodness," said Q. That was a security breach that had not occurred in any of the Double-ohs for as long as the program had been running.

"Then...?" asked Bond.

"Just a lucky guess based on what I saw transpire tonight," said Q. "009 says Fulmer is an even bigger arse when he's on assignment." Q was still sitting up looking at Bond. He tapped him on the hip gently. "What did he say to you tonight to get you to leave the fete?"

Bond looked around at Q. The man was a fucking bulldog with a bone about this and there would be no sleep until he had confessed something. As he rolled on his back, Bond considered a convenient lie, but as the word "convenient" wasn't really applying itself at that moment, he chose the easier route: the truth. "He blamed me for fucking up and getting drugged."

"I'm sorry, what?" said Q.

"He also said that the rape was my punishment for fucking up," said Bond, watching Q's reaction carefully. Q was horror-stricken that anyone would say something so terrible. Bond added: "I didn't believe him about that, of course, it's just ridiculous." He gave Q a small smile. Q returned it, but it was tinged with worry. "But he also said I was a liability to national security because I didn't take out Morgenstern right away, and for that, I have to give him points. I mean, Fulmer does nothing but get on everyone's tits, but why did I go in and have a drink with Morgenstern?" Bond sighed and rubbed his face. "Perhaps I am losing it."

Q was stunned. In a daze he said: "You aren't losing it, James. You've just got to get past this." He thought a moment and then said: "Perhaps you saw something of yourself in Morgenstern. You're both shoot-first-ask-questions-later types. You wanted to do the honorable thing and give him a last glass of whiskey before he departed this world." Q shrugged. "That's my best guess." Bond nodded. It made sense to Bond and somewhere inside of himself he felt things lighten up, a burden lift. "Who else was in the dream?"

Bond glanced up out of his own thoughts and said: "Murphy."

"Why him?" asked Q.

"He had that great big pole of his with him," said Bond. Q shivered slightly. "He intended on using it on me by way of revenge, I suppose."

"You have nothing to fear from him," offered Q.

"I know," said Bond. "But... you're OK with it? I mean, what happened with him wasn't exactly... regulation."

Q was silent for a moment. It was true that what happened to Murphy was way above and beyond what should have happened, but Q probed his emotions for some type of regret or remorse and found nothing. "It wasn't by the book, it's true," said Q slowly. "But in the end, had I been well enough to dole out my own punishment after what he and his boys had put me through, I probably would have done the same thing. I mean, if it were you and I found you like that, there would be no hole he could hide in deep or dark enough that I couldn't find him. His life was forfeit the moment he kidnapped me. If it wasn't you, it would have been me. After all, he hurt you too." Q brushed Bond's arm affectionately.

"I forget that you're such a badass, Geoffrey," said Bond.

"Oh best not do that," said Q. "One should never underestimate me, mentally or physically." After a pause, he said, "Perhaps we should both speak to a psychologist. Somehow I don't think my ambivalence toward Murphy's death to be quite normal."

Bond chuckled. "You do what you must, Q. But I'm not seeing a shrink," said Bond.

Q's forehead crinkled with concern. "I want to help you past this Morgenstern thing, but I can't help you, 007," said Q. James looked at him pointedly. Q never used his designation in conversation unless he were being official. "I'm not qualified enough to assist in your recovery."

"Is that an order then, quartermaster?" asked Bond a little defensively.

Q sighed. He was out of his depth in order to help James, but he wanted to help him. If being tough about this was the only way... "Yes," he said. "It's an order."

Bond pursed his lips in thought. "Are you going to report this to M?"

"About the nightmare, you mean?" Q asked. Bond nodded. Q gave him a sad smile. "Not on your life."


	34. Chapter 34

Bond smiled and sat up to kiss Q. He still wasn't used to the support he was getting from the man, but it felt good to know that someone was on his side - even if he did want him to see a shrink. Perhaps the self-doubt would vanish if he could get back to a real assignment. Bond resolved to talk to M the moment they returned. Perhaps he could convince Q to cut their holiday short so he could receive a new mission assignment. A successful completion of a real mission would probably ease Q's fears and get rid of all this talk of psychoanalysts. Q would understand eventually that the nightmare was a fluke and Bond would have his old life back. But right now, at two o'clock in the morning, Q was kissing Bond and Bond was losing his train of thought.

A sly bit of tongue against his bottom lip was followed by nipping teeth and Bond felt the heat rush downward. He wrapped a strong arm around Q's torso and pulled him on top of him, carding a hand through his hair and deepening the kiss. Bond remembered how good Q looked in his tuxedo that night and he raised his legs and wrapped them around Q's hips, hugging him close and pushing their growing erections together. Q pulled his head up, breaking the kiss, and said, "I guess you're not that upset over seeing a shrink after all, hmm?"

"Can we talk about this when I don't have you naked and on top of me?" said Bond leaning up with his head toward Q's mouth. Q pulled his head back to be out of reach from the agent and smirked when Bond's first attempt failed. Bond grabbed the back of his head and raised his chest up, crushing Q's lips onto his and licking deeply into Q's groaning mouth.

After a few minutes of serious wet snogging, Q panted, "We can drop the subject for now, I suppose. How do you want me?"

Bond was ready to move on. He needed to feel Q inside him. It would be the first time he had been entered since...

The rape, James. The rape. Call it what it is, James.

It would be a hurdle, but Bond thought if he could just do that - with Q... It would mean more than anything that he was regaining some kind of control over his life again.

So this was it. He looked into Q's eyes and said with all conviction: "I want you inside me, Geoffrey."

Q paused. Bond knew he would. He also knew the next question Q would ask: "Are you sure?"

Bond smiled. "Positive," he replied happily. He knew Q would take it slow. It was the wisest course. But he also knew that no matter how slow it went that it would still be difficult. He needed it though. He needed to get a little of his own back. "I need you, Geoffrey. Please. I love you."

"I love you too," said Q. He was worried for Bond, but he thought if he paced himself, pausing only when he saw distress in James' face, he could get through it. He wanted it to be enough, but he knew the truth.


	35. Chapter 35

The whole process took three hours, Q dragging out the foreplay so that there could be no doubt in either of their minds that this was coming from a place of love and affection, rather than power and dominance. It was interspersed with talking and caressing and long sessions of pure snogging. There was no rush. However, the first thing Q noticed was that it was hard to get a read on James. He seemed to internalize what was happening, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. Only when Q encouraged him to open his eyes and look at him could he really relax. Then Q had a genius idea. He reached over and turned the bedside lamp on.

Neither of them had done it in the light before, and if they had, it was either in the shower or under the covers. Q kicked aside the duvet and let Bond bear witness to all of it. He licked and sucked his way down James' body, not so much caressing his flesh, but worshiping it. The kisses were reverent; the licking was experimental, cautious. Q was taking no chances of startling Bond. He remained as silent as he could, Q's moaning and gasping only interspersed occasionally by his cries of "James!"

As for James, he was slowly becoming a pile of jelly at the hands of his quartermaster. As the hours ticked by, Q brought him to the brink and back countless times, his eyes filled with the images he loved to see: sweet red lips pressing kisses to his golden flesh, the ripple of muscle under alabaster skin, the flick of a pink tongue here and there, a strong long-fingered hand around his cock. His breath stuttered as sounds were pulled from him that no one could ever have done - only Geoffrey. "My Geoffrey," Bond whispered as kisses trailed up the insides of his thighs.

Lube was procured and when the furtive tongue of the quartermaster probed Bond's hole, he felt Bond still and then instantly relax. "Good, James," said Q softly. "I'm not going to hurt you and you can stop this at any time. I promise."

"I know, love," said Bond. "Please.... please... I need you inside."

Q pressed in again with his tongue tenderly. All his care and attentiveness over the previous three hours was paying off. They had both had enough and really wanted to get to it. He swapped his tongue for a lubed finger and pressed in gently. Bond bucked against his hand, effectively fucking his fingers as he begged Q for more. Soon there was a second and a third, all of which Bond took in without hesitation.

Finally, Q lined himself up and pressed himself into Bond's delicious heat. It was slow and deliberate like all the other things they had done all night, but ever-vigilant Q watched Bond carefully for any slight signs of regret, distress, or panic. He loved James so much, he thought his heart would burst.

Bond felt Q enter him (finally!) and broke out in an enormous grin. All the time and attention had paid off. He took Q up to the hilt and wrapped his legs around him, allowing him in deeper. "God in heaven, I love you," he gasped. "Fuck! I needed this, Geoffrey. Fuck me... Come on. I know you want to. Please."

Q's resolve dissolved almost instantaneously. He pulled out slowly and with each thrust drove himself deeper and deeper, faster and faster into the gorgeous man beneath him. "Oh Christ, James!" he cried as he began to lose his rhythm.

"Cum for me, Geoffrey," said Bond. "Please... fucking cum!"

Q didn't need more than that. He exploded inside James with a cry and Bond wasn't far behind. The agent pulled himself to his own well-overdue climax, sperm spraying all over his belly and chest. Q collapsed onto the sticky mess and caught his breath.

"That-" Q began. "That was-" He couldn't speak.

"Incredible," finished Bond. Q smiled into Bond's neck and kissed the flesh softly.

"Just so," said Q. "How do you feel?" Q raised his head to see Bond's face.

"Like I could have another go in about an hour," said Bond happily. And he meant it. He wasn't completely better; sex wasn't a cure-all. But this had done wonders for his hopes.

Q smiled. "Sounds good to me," he said.


	36. Chapter 36

Somewhere between another round of slow sensational sex and more hours sleeping, Bond had come to terms with his need for being well again. "I know I'm a stubborn bastard," he told Q as he held the man against his chest. Q let Bond's rumbling voice mix with the sound of his heartbeat; he decided that those two things together were his favorite noise.

"Hmm?" Q encouraged. He had done nothing but allow Bond to be himself all night long and it had become a habit. Normally, he'd have some snarky quip about Bond being stubborn, but he let it slide in favor of him getting whatever was on his mind out of his mouth. The snark would come back when Bond came back. For now, discretion was the better part of valor.

"But this has been so fucking restorative to me, Geoffrey," said Bond. He smoothed his hands over Q's back as he spoke, glorying in the warmth and softness of the skin. "I actually feel rather sane right now."

Q raised his head to kiss James gently on the lips. "Good," he said. "I'm glad to hear it. Relieved, if I'm honest." He put his head back down against Bond's chest and sighed happily.

"You're relieved?" said Bond incredulously. "Jesus Christ... how do you think I feel? I'm the one that's been trapped in this brain of mine for fucking weeks now."

"And who's fault is that?" lectured Q.

Bond huffed. "Mine," he said glumly.

"Exactly," said Q. "It wasn't as if I weren't around. I was trying to get through to you, James. To get you to talk. But nothing I did was helping."

"Your perseverance paid off in the end though," said Bond, kissing Q's hair.

"Mmmm," said Q in agreement.

"How do you feel about seeing Paris today?" asked Bond.

"Paris?" said Q. "No. No thanks. I'm already seeing someone." He lifted his head to look Bond in the eyes. Q's expression was drowsy and his hair was a mess. Bond thought he was the most fuckable man he'd ever known. Q smirked and added:"And he's sexier than Paris any damn day of the week."

Bond captured Q's mouth in a deep kiss. They could eat later. They could shower later. They could see Paris later.

This was much more important.


	37. Chapter 37

That evening they dined in a secluded booth at "La Poete" restaurant. A friend of Bond's owned the place and, after an amazing four-course meal, personally made them his Crêpe Suzette a flambé right at the table. It would have been the height of a tourist's experience to witness such a table-side display, but Bond had seen it a hundred times. What he had never seen was the light in Q's eyes as he watched Luc set the Grand Marnier alight and serve the crepes hot from the pan to the plate.

As they tucked in, Bond couldn't help but stare at Q. It took Q three delicious mouthfuls to realize that Bond had stopped eating. "What?" he said, after chasing the latest bite down with some wine. "Don't you like it?"

"I like you more," said Bond playfully.

Q grinned. He looked over Bond's shoulder and Bond followed his line of sight to watch the only other patrons in the restaurant depart for the night. Luc locked the door behind them and pulled down his shades. It was very late. Almost three. "We should be going," said Q.

Bond turned to him. "Perhaps we should."

Luc came over to him. "James," he said, his English dripping with a French accent, "close up for me, will you? Just slip the key in the mail slot after you leave. I'll get it in the morning. I've got to go to bed. Goodnight, mes amis." And with that, he went up the stairs that were hidden behind the cash register.

"What about the check?" Bond called after him in perfect French.

"Fuck the check," said Luc from the stairwell, out of sight. "Get me next time you're in town."

Bond raised an eyebrow at Q who did the same to him. "Well," Q said, slicing another piece off of his dessert, "the whole place to ourselves. Whatever shall we do?" Bond responded by moving his chair around the table and close to Q. Q had a forkful of the orange-flavored crepe almost to his lips and Bond leaned forward and, leading with his tongue, slid it erotically off the fork. Chewing, he leaned forward for a close-mouthed kiss. It tasted of wine and oranges and Q had a feeling that oranges would somehow carry a significance for him for the rest of his days.

Q's mouth was suddenly dry. He stared openly at Bond's mouth and felt himself lean forward for another kiss. This time the mouthful was finished and swallowed and Q was able to taste the orange/wine/Bond flavor more completely. It there was any doubt as to whether or not he enjoyed such a blend in his mouth, the uncertainty vanished with Q's decidedly lascivious moan.

My God, Q loved oranges.

It was a pity that this trip couldn't last forever.


	38. Chapter 38

Monday morning's arrival was unwelcome. It was the day they had decided they would go back. They had to be back at MI6 on Tuesday for a detail that neither of them relished: escorting Morgenstern to Crown Court. It was a formality, really. Everyone involved knew he would be convicted and possibly hanged for his betrayal and abet of those most unspeakable murders. It gave Q a chill just thinking about standing by while someone did that to innocent children. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that now those children would have a final resting place and would be at peace.

Q glanced at Bond as they sat on the chunnel train. He looked more pensive than usual and he desperately hoped that their time in Paris did as much healing as could be possible for Bond. Morgenstern was Bond's rapist, after all. And Bond would be facing him. Escorting him to the courts would only be a matter of about an hour with traffic, but still. It was an hour that Q did not envy Bond. Everything in Q's system was screaming for him to beg Bond to not take this assignment, to not go at all. Escort duty was beneath a double-oh anyway. And what did Bond have to prove?

And then it struck Q: that was exactly why Bond had to do it. He had to prove to himself that he was well enough to deal with the bastard. Bond needed to know that he could look the arsehole in the eye and not be the first to blink. And that's why the agent was staring into the blackness of the chunnel that surrounded them: he was psyching himself up for the challenge ahead. Perhaps he was also running through scenarios, possibilities in conversations or actions that might be exchanged between them. Q decided to keep silent.

His silence didn't mean that he wasn't concerned, however. If anything triggering happened between Bond and Morgenstern, if anything even remotely bad happened, it would fall to Q to fix because Bond would never see a psychoanalyst about any of this. And what if he snapped? What if Bond did to Morgenstern what he did to Murphy? Once was dangerous enough to get him light assignments - and that was a hell of a light punishment, considering. Two similar events back-to-back would have Bond thrown into jail - or worse - an institution.

Bond would not do well in an institution. The first thing he would do would be to escape, of course. And that would cause all sorts of trouble for all sorts of people. The entire country would be on high alert. Double-ohs would be brought in from the field specifically to hunt Bond down. Not to mention the fact that Q would never see his little flat again; M would have him holed up in MI6 for the rest of his life, just in case Bond decided to contact him. That would be utterly perfect, Q thought glumly.

Q glanced at Bond again, trying not to let his nervousness about the whole affair leak out of every pore of his body. Damn that man. If he would have only sought out the help he needed right away, Q would feel a lot better about the whole thing. But no. That's not Bond's way at all. He's always got to be difficult. Q let out a frustrated sigh that caught Bond's attention.

"What is it?" asked Bond.

"Hmm?" said Q distractedly. He was endeavoring to think of something to cover the fact that he had been sitting there imagining the whole of England going to hell in a handbasket because someone had decided to institutionalize James Bond. "Oh nothing," said Q finally - weakly. "I'm just knackered and there's so much to do." Q offered Bond a wan smile.

Bond didn't buy it for a moment. "I'm not going to kill him, Q," he said quietly.

For a moment, Q actually believed him.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This is the big confrontation between Bond and his rapist. If you have triggers for rape/non-con and recovery, PLEASE DO NOT READ!!

Bond stepped into the room with Morgenstern and motioned for the guard to stand outside. They were awaiting the transport vehicle that would take Morgenstern from prison to the criminal court building. From where Bond stood, Morgenstern looked like a shriveled old man. Then why was he so fucking nervous?

"I hear that I made the papers," said Morgenstern casually.

"Yes," said Bond. "It seems you're famous for being a selfish arsehole."

"That's not why I did what I did," said Morgenstern.

"Or rather why you didn't do what you didn't do," quipped Bond. The more he talked, the better he felt. At this rate, he should be fine by the time they got the bastard to the Old Bailey. Morgenstern grunted in contempt. "What I want to know is why you did what you did to me," said Bond. He was surprised at how even his voice sounded.

"Hmm?" said Morgenstern. "To you? What?... Oh! What I did to you." He gave a low chuckle. "Still festering over that, are you?" He clucked his tongue at Bond. "You really should learn to push past all that, my boy. It wouldn't do for your superiors to find out that you'd been buggered."

"My superiors already know I've been buggered," said Bond. "And so does my boyfriend."

Morgenstern raised an eyebrow. "Letting in poofters now, are they? Well..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Bond. He was getting a bit testy.

"Wasn't regulation in my day," said Morgentstern. "Got to be so bad, we had to sneak around while out in the field. And even then, you could be compromised." He looked away wistfully and said: "Shame really, Henry and I could have been so happy together." He looked back at Bond. "You remind me of him, you know. Oh, wait... I think I told you that, didn't I?" He grinned slyly at the agent.

Bond's bile rose at the memory. That was what Morgenstern had said just before he kissed him after drugging him. "You had mentioned something of it, yes."

"I thought so," said Morgenstern as he let his eyes travel up and down Bond like a searchlight. Bond could feel Morgenstern mentally undressing him.

"Did I tell you," asked Bond, trying very hard not to strike the son of a bitch. "that I'm the one who killed your Henry?"


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This is the big confrontation between Bond and his rapist. If you have triggers for rape/non-con and recovery, PLEASE DO NOT READ!!

Morgenstern jumped to his feet, the manacles around his hands and connecting to both ankles jangling. "You?!" he said. "There's no way he could be taken in by you. Why Henry'd spot you a mile off! He was a professional. You never stop being a spook, you know, even after you retire. You'll always be able to spot another spook. It's instinct. And Henry had the best instincts there were."

"And yet, he's dead," said Bond coolly, satisfied with the reaction he was getting from the former agent.

"What had he done?" said Morgenstern.

Bond tilted his head. "He was guilty of the same crimes your are," he said. "Haven't you realized? MI6 was out to eliminate the lot of you. Henry was just the first of three I had on my assignment. The other two were you and your precious, insane, murderous ex-wife."

Morgenstern sat heavily, the fight gone out of him - but only for a moment. In the next instant he looked at Bond with pure malevolence and said: "Did you give Henry a tumble before you killed him? Because, I've got to admit, you were pretty good in the sack for a trussed-up drugged-up faggot." Bond lost his sense of humor with that statement. "And the way you cried out for Geoffrey... well hell. I should have guessed you were gay. I thought for a moment that you were calling for your back up. But when none came... well." Morgenstern reclined against the concrete wall behind him. "Still, if I had to have a last shag, I could have done worse. Your boyfriend's a lucky man. You'll give him my condolences if I've stretched your arse a bit too wide with my cock, won't you? I wouldn't want to hurt the boy's feelings." Morgenstern sat forward adding: "Say, you wouldn't mind another go, would you? I could stand to see that pert arse of yours one last time." He gave a lascivious chuckle that repelled Bond. And then Bond saw it: the crack in the facade.

When Morgenstern started talking, Bond was getting angrier and angrier, but for some unknown reason by the time the criminal finished his disgusting speech, Bond suddenly saw him for what he was: a paper tiger. This man was no more a threat to him than a fly. Bond no longer felt anger towards him; he now felt a mixture of contempt and disgust; for the man that sat before him was a thing of smoke and mirror, a hollow monster, a broken and useless old man.

Morgenstern licked his lips in anticipation of Bond's reaction, but there was none. All the former agent saw was an agent in Her Majesty's Service, James Bond. His cool blue eyes seemed to look right through Morgenstern and he flinched. Bond smirked when he saw it. Gotcha, he thought.

A knock came at the door and the guard outside poked in his head to say that the transport had arrived. Bond thanked the guard and stepped toward Morgenstern. "Stand up, old man," he said. "Time to pay the bill."

Morgenstern said nothing and Bond could see that his power was gone. Bond didn't even touch him, but when Morgenstern passed by, he could have sworn he saw the ex-agent flinch again. And he was smaller than Bond remembered. More frail too. Interesting.

Bond walked behind the guard detail and rode in the back of the transport with the majority of the guard and Morgenstern. Bond stared at him for the entire ride. He would never forgive Morgenstern for what he did to him. It would certainly be a while before rough sex or dirty talk entered into his sexual arena again, but in that moment, Bond knew that he would get past this. I mean, who was afraid of a paper tiger?


	41. Chapter 41

"What are you up to?" Bond asked. Q jumped a mile and turned around. He thought he was alone in his sub-basement rooms. He didn't hear the door open at all. He was concentrating too hard on the reassignment hack he was doing. He didn't dare go to the Q Branch office because he wanted to be home when Bond got back from his security detail.

"God damn," said Q. "You frightened the hell out of me." He recovered quickly it seemed, for he was on his feet and looking Bond over for any sign of stress. "Are you alright? I mean, of course you're alright, it's just-"

Bond held up a hand to stop Q. "I'm fine. A bit shaky at the moment, but it'll pass. By the way: he got life. In my mind it's a bit too generous, but he has no visitation and he's to spend it alone, so there's that."

"Jesus," said Q. "You stayed through the trial and all? What time is it?" He looked at his watch. It was almost seven at night. "God, where did the time go?"

Bond thought Q looked more nervous than he did about the whole situation. He was tempted to laugh, but chose instead to take Q by the shoulders and plant a soft kiss to his lips. "Shh," soothed Bond. "There now. Calm yourself. I told you that I wouldn't kill him, didn't I?"

"Of course you did," said Q. "But I was worried that he might have..."

"He tried," said Bond and Q gave him a startled look. "He had a few choice words for me. What a letch. Promise me that if I ever become a dirty old man ogling all the pretty young things that go by that you'll shoot me right between the eyes, no questions asked."

"I think I'll just tease you about it mercilessly instead," said Q with a wry grin. "Will that do?"

Bond smiled and kissed Q again. "Fine," said Bond. He walked to the kitchen and pulled out a beer. Cracking it open he came back to the sofa where he made himself comfortable at Q's side. They watched the fire in the grate for some time before Bond spoke: "He was nothing to me by the time we left MI6. He was a shell of a man."

"If you can call his sort a man," said Q with a trace of disgust.

Bond sipped his beer thoughtfully. "True," he said. After another long moment he said: "I'm still not well, you know."

"Yes," said Q. "I know. But it's alright. I'm right here." He covered Bond's free hand with his own. Bond flipped his hand over and squeezed.

"Incidentally, sorry for startling you when I came in. What were you working on? You seemed absorbed," asked Bond.

"Oh nothing official," said Q with a smirk.

Bond turned to him conspiratorially and said in a low voice: "That's my favorite kind of work." He smiled craftily at Q and his quartermaster returned the smile.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE:
> 
> Fulmer's come-uppance
> 
> (Turkish prison, anyone?)

Agent Lance Fulmer of Her Majesty's Service stumbled into the dark dank hole. He had just infiltrated the prison and was already covered in dirt. He was sure the uniform they gave him contained lice. He itched everywhere.

He couldn't understand what he was doing here, why he was pulled from his Cosa Nostra assignment in Paris, but he would get out of this mission as soon as he could. The air hung thick with the scent of rotting flesh and defecation. He couldn't see in the near-darkness and as he walked along he held out a hand to steady himself, his hands rubbed raw against the stone as he staggered past the other prisoners. His Arabic was rusty, but he was pretty sure he could get the information that was required by MI6. He just needed to find Muhammad Abdul-Assan.

The only difficulty was that he had no idea what the man looked like. The last known photograph provided was thirty years out of date and the man was clean-shaven then as well. He was to be here until he could crack Abdul-Assan. But there were more than three hundred prisoners in this place and three-fourths of them were Middle Eastern; it was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.

Someone cried out as he stepped on their foot. Fulmer apologized profusely in his limited Arabic, but he was pretty sure that the injured party's response had something to do with camel ejaculate.

There was a guard behind him, moving him along and another ahead, guiding him to a specific cell. Once there, they shoved him in roughly and Fulmer hit something solid, but decidedly not made of stone. Slowly he backed up and looked up. And up. And up. Before him stood the largest man he had ever had the misfortune to be imprisoned with. Fulmer smiled weakly and apologized in Arabic to him. His cell-mate said nothing. Fulmer swallowed hard.

And then he screamed as he was taken by the throat and thrown face down on a hay-filled mattress in the corner. The smell of urine was instantly overwhelming. Soon there was a heavy weight on his back: it was the hand of the great man as he sat beside him. "You English?" he said in a heavy accent.

"Y-yes," said Fulmer. "I am English. Hello. Lance Fulmer. Lovely to meet you." Fulmer winced a smile at him as the man dug his fingers into the small of his back.

"Jafar Singh," said the giant.

"Hello, Mr. Singh," said Fulmer. Perhaps this man wasn't so bad after all. This might actually be alright.

"I like English," said Jafar.

"D-do you?" said Fulmer. "That's a relief."

"I like you," said Jafar with a low hum. He ran his hand down Fulmer's back and over his buttocks. Fulmer went deathly silent and still. "You will make good fuck," said Jafar.

Fulmer vomited and passed out.

 

THE END


End file.
